


Rose-Colored Boy

by llttlenoel



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drug Use, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Mickey's POV, Oral Sex, Pain Kink, Physical Abuse, Praise Kink, Rape, Romantic Tension, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Suicidal Thoughts, Verbal Abuse, Violence, homophic tendencies, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:39:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 98,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llttlenoel/pseuds/llttlenoel
Summary: (Whole story in Mickey's pov)"Well, look at the bright side; you can actually use a toilet next time!" The first words Ian had ever said to him. Shouted across the field while Mickey was being dragged off after pissing on his base. He had snapped his head around, intending on giving the kid a piece of his mind, but just couldn't. He could still remember how quickly his anger drained and was replaced with some alien feeling when he saw the dumb red-headed boy with his goofy smile staring back at him.That toothy smile, that stupid hair, those tauntingly light words. It was all bright, Ian was bright. That would be the word, among others, Mickey most related to Ian down the road. And, he'd hate it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Gallavich fic and I'm excited to see it take form! The whole thing is in Mickey's point of view. This first chapter is pretty short but they will get longer. I hope you enjoy it! (Updates on a weekly basis, every Friday!!!)

_**Chapter One** _

 

     "Well, look at the bright side; you can actually use a toilet next time!" The first words Ian had ever said to him. Shouted across the field while Mickey was being dragged off after pissing on his base. He had snapped his head around, intending on giving the kid a piece of his mind, but just couldn't. He could still remember how quickly his anger drained and was replaced with some alien feeling when he saw the dumb red-headed boy with his goofy smile staring back at him.

     That toothy smile, that stupid hair, those tauntingly light words. It was all bright, Ian was bright. That would be the word, among others, Mickey most related to Ian down the road. And, he'd hate it.

 

⁂

 

     Years after his first world turning encounter with Ian Gallagher, Mickey's thoughts of the boy became far and few between. But, it was no simple feet. It had taken him months to stop consciously looking for red hair when he was out around town, to stop catching himself daydreaming about said red hair and its owner. His mind seemed to have always been on Gallagher. It was almost easier to try to filter through the times he wasn't thinking of him.

     It was a sweet relief when he finally cut off the constant distraction. His mind no longer wondered, he hardly ever even thought of Ian, he mostly only ever saw him in his dreams anymore, and even that became a rare occasion. Mickey could never admit it even to himself, but he relished in those dreams. He would lay in bed a little longer those days, just to replay the images that flutter under his lids. But, the second he opened his eyes, any trace of the ginger would be gone. He wouldn't allow such notions to take up time and space in his everyday life anymore.

     Yet, even now, he still found himself frozen whenever he actually spotted Ian somewhere; which was usually fine. Usually, Mickey would see him at the Kash and Grab, or just around the neighborhood; places it was easier to just stand there till the moment passed, till Ian was out of his direct line of sight. Usually, Ian wasn't sitting in his house, on his couch, next to his sister.

     Mickey could actually feel his eyes widen when Ian barely glanced up from his books and offer him a friendly smile. That smile. The smile that would still haunt him in his darken moments, because it could still brighten things for Mickey. "What's he doing here?" Mickey asked Mandy, snapping himself back to reality.

     "Were studying, what the hell do you care?" Mandy didn't even look up from her paper, just turned to lean her back against the arm of the couch and prop her feet on Ian, who lifted his things to accommodate her limbs.

     "Don't," Mickey bit back, rubbing his thumb over his lip. He realized he was staring at Ian when he looked up at him again.

     "How's it goin, Mick?"

     "What the fuck's it to you?" He snapped back, walking off to his room before slamming the door.

     "Always the charmer," Ian joked, turning back to his book.

     "Well do you see a line outside the door for him?" Mandy rolled her eyes, pulling her feet off Ians lap, "why do you think he only fucks girls like Angie?"

     "Yeah, I guess," Ian scrunched his nose, but still occasionally looked back at the door the older boy had disappeared behind.

      _Great_ , Mickey thought, leaning his ear on the door, _leave it to fucking Mandy to implant imagines of him fucking random girls in Ian's head_. He sighed and heaved himself off the door then threw body onto his bed. All that time he spent trying to block any and all thoughts of the idiot, and it took only one look at that idiots face for it everything to come rushing back. _Idiot_. Mickey huffed and began rubbing his eyes.

     He needed to come up with some sort of plan. He couldn't keep going the way he was, especially if he and Mandy were all buddy-buddy now. Mickey didn't know if he would be able to handle seeing that much of Ian; he really didn't know if he would be able to handle seeing that much of Ian in his house. If, by some act of God, he could get over this infatuation (obsession, whatever) he would be able to just not ever give two shits if Ian was in his proximity, he could just not even notice. But, if he acted on these thoughts and they were reciprocated, he could be out there, too. He could be on the couch with Ian, it could be _his_ feet propped in Ian's lap as opposed to his sister's.

     There was just no way though. Gallagher was out there getting all chummy on the couch with Mandy right now. No way he was on the same side as Mickey. And, even so, what the hell would he do? Was he just supposed to walk up to the gangly freak and tell him everything? _Hey, I've been thinking and obsessing over you for a better part of my life now, ever since I first heard your voice and saw your face, so, like, what are we gonna do about this?_ Yeah, that would end well; out himself and confess all the secret thoughts he's ever had.

     No, he couldn't do that. He'd spent way too much time protecting himself to just blurt it out to everyone. Too much time getting over someone he had talked to so few times, he could literally count their conversations on one hand. He was not going to set a fire to everything he's built for himself for Ian Fucking Gallagher, even if just the thought of fire brought his mind to burning, ginger locks.

     It was settled, then. This shit had to stop. Mickey would not be pursuing any sort of connection with Ian Gallagher. Mickey would not chance a glance, even speak, to Ian Gallagher if he could help it. He found his hand palming himself through his jeans as he came to this conclusion. He would not pursue Ian, but who could be blamed if images of freckles and red hair floated through his brain while he jerked himself off once in a while? He groaned and cursed himself as slipped his pants off and began stroking himself to the thought of Ian sitting on the couch, smiling up at him.

     God save Mickey Milkovich from Ian Gallagher.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two** _

 

     There's not much to be said for trying to get over someone you've gained feelings akin to obsession for, besides its stressful as fuck and it will lead you to heavy drinking. Copious amounts of drugs and alcohol mixed with sleeping with whoever he can get his hands on is what worked for Mickey. Or, at least, what he thought worked.

     He can't pinpoint when exactly it happened, or even how long it took, he just remembers one day being able to walk right by Ian without any flutter in his stomach or tightening in his chest. He remembers one day not thinking about Ian during an orgasm, be it with himself or some stranger from the bar. He remembers one day not dreaming about Ian or having him even cross his mind at all for that matter. He thinks part of him really misses how it was before, but he pushes it away and tells himself this is the safer way to go.

      In the time he's forgotten about tall gingers, Mickey's grown closer to his dad and brothers. He finds himself more willing to go on runs with them because it was a decent distraction and he got to take his anger out on the people he had to deal with whenever things got too out of hand. The other Milkovich men also severed as a good reminder on why Mickey had to keep things the way they were; very deep in the closet. Every time Terry would talk about bashing a couple fags heads in, or physically bashed a couple fags heads in, Mickey always pictured himself at the end of his fathers fists. He would be able to be out and proud for two whole minutes, if he was lucky. He'd never make it out alive.

     It's on his way home from the bar that Mickey truly realized any bit of an optimist he'd have left, he's killed. Maybe when he chose to hide himself from everyone. Maybe when chose to follow in his fathers footsteps a little closer. Maybe when he gave up Ian. Maybe he was even dead from the start; maybe he lost all hope that first moment on the baseball pitch. Who knows. He thinks maybe he'll feel totally gutted and empty without any of that light in his life, but he ironically just feels more free. Now he knows where he stands, he doesn't have any hope in the way to cloud his judgment.

     He sighs his relief, a weight off his shoulders, and enters his house. Its dark inside, only the glow of tv screen lighting up the room. Mandy's on the couch by herself, and he smacks her head as he passes to go to the kitchen. "Where's fuckhead?" He asks, ducking so as not to get hit by the beer can Mandy launched at him.

     "Why, you miss him?"

     "Hell no. He's got his own place don't he? Why don't you guys fuck off there?" Mickey sticks his head into the fridge looking for literally anything at this point.

     "He's got a enough kids over there to start a fucking baseball team" Mandy reclines in the couch more, throwing her feet on the cluttered table in front of her as she flips through tv channels.

     "Oh and we don't?" He rolls his eyes to himself.

     "You assholes are barely here anyway. Besides he won't be coming over as much anymore, so on the bright side; you get your shithole of a house back to yourself," she yawned. Mickey popped up behind the fridge door at that, narrowing his eyes to better see his sister in the darkness. Growing up in Southside, especially growing up in the Milkovich house, 'bright side' was not a term he heard often, if at all. So when Mickey hears Mandy use it, his mind immediately flips to the only other time he can think of ever hearing it.

     He was so caught up in his thoughts he almost missed the bigger picture of what had just been said. "Wait, why isn't he coming over anymore?" Mickey closed the fridge door, appetite forgotten, and leaned against the counter closest to the living room.

     "He said he doesn't like coming here anymore, I don't know. We stopped hanging out here a while ago, usually just when you're all gone." Mandy doesn't even look up from whatever show she's watching, which Mickey is grateful for because he suspects his face would give him away easy.

     "Oh, what, so he was here tonight?"

     "Yeah, he came by a bit after you all left and was gone before you showed up."

     "Well why the fuck doesn't he want to be here when we're here? You guys just use the house for fucking? Is that why?" Mickey feels himself getting angry and annoyed. Does Gallagher really not want to come over when the house is full because all he and Mandy do is fuck all over the place? How many places had they had sex? That thought gets him to push off the counter, feeling disgusted, and stroll to stand behind the couch to look at Mandy, who was standing up and stretching, probably heading off to bed.

     "Fuck no, Jesus, he's-" Mandy's face goes white and she's completely frozen as though she just let some big government secret out over live television. "I mean, no he just doesn't like a full house..." she trails off a bit, hoping it's enough to ward her brother off.

     "Fuck off. 'He doesn't like a full house,' he's got a whole gaggle of Gallaghers over there and he seems to do just fine" Mickey raises his eyebrows. What's this secret he's not allowed to know? "He's what, Mandy? What is he?"

     "Look, given your past history with people, and Ian being my friend, you'll understand why I'm not jumping to tell you shit."

     "The fucks that supposed to mean?" He spat, crossing his arms over his chest.

     "Just, if you could, next time you assholes are looking for your next fag bashing target, try to skim past him, okay? He tries to keep under the radar, but he's also not in the closet so it gets out. Just- just don't fuck him up, okay?" With that, Mandy's off to her room for the night, feeling guilty for telling Mickey of all people about Ian, but hopeful that Mickey won't be a complete douchebag and try not to kill her friend.

     He had just spread genocide through his whole being, killing off anything closely relating hope and light, and here he was, with fresh thoughts about Ian Gallagher. Ian was gay? Ian actually was on the same side as him? Slowly, Mickey caught images drifting through his mind of how things could be in some perfect world he knows only could exist in the head of someone like Ian. Images of the two of them together, holding hands, kissing, even having sex. Things he hasn't thought of in so long he almost gets whiplash with how fast they flood his system.

     Mickey was frozen where he stood. He had lost all sense of time, so he had no real way of gaging how long he just stood in the spot behind his couch. All those earlier thoughts of him standing on the other end of Terry's rage morphed into Ian. Ian's face battered and bruised, covered head to toe in blood, laying helpless on the ground. He couldn't do that, not to Ian. Who gave a shit if it happened to Mickey, but Ian had people who cared about him; Ian had his family, friends like Mandy, he even had Mickey.

     Thoughts of Ian being hurt by his family draws Mickey's attention to why the redhead wanted to stop coming by when they were around; he was scared of them. Ian must have figured they were starting to catch on to him or something, and got too afraid to come by anymore. Guilt clutches every fiber in Mickey's being and he thinks he's going to be sick because he's never felt guilt this strong before.

     Couldn't things just stop being so fucked up for a minute? He'd be fucked if he was going to deal with this shit right now, so instead, he grabbed the first thing resembling alcohol he could find in the dark kitchen and holed himself up in his room. He didn't drink to forget Gallagher anymore; he just drank to forget. Tonight, however, he would not stop until until he didn't even know the color red was.

  
⁂

  
     He next morning found Mickey passed out in bed well past noon, still clutching an empty bottle of whiskey. He could hear a distant but consistent pounding, almost to the point of feeling it in his head. He didn't know how close or how far it was but after what felt like an eternity, he rolled onto his stomach, throwing the bottle at his bedroom door. "What the fuck do you want?" He grumbled into his pillows.

     "You need to go collect for me," Terry came bursting in the room, speaking much louder than a hungover Mickey felt was necessary.

     "And why the fuck can't you go yourself?"

     "Because I told you to. And I've got other shit to do today so get goin'," Terry left the room, leaving the door open, and continued shouting at Mickey form the kitchen table with a mouth full of food, "Frank Gallagher. Owes me a shit load of money and is so far behind he thinks he's off the hook. That fuckers got another thing comin' to him."

     Mickey tensed and bolted up in his bed. _Fucking Gallaghers_. "Why do you keep doing business with that douchebag? He never pays up, and I always gotta go over there and kick his ass," Mickey yelled back as he pulled on jeans and headed out to the kitchen where he rest of the clan were.

     "Because he's easy to make an example with and no one gives a shit what happens to him anyway." Mickey sighed as quietly as he could as grabbed a gun from the table and shoved it in the back of his jeans. He was almost out the door when his dad called back to him, "and he's not at the bar, he's been hiding out at his house because he knows you're looking for him." Mickey couldn't even think of a response, just slammed the door and ran down the stairs till he was on the sidewalk. He was really going to have to go to their house? He was really going to have to beat the shit of their dad in front of them? In front of Ian?

     Guilt began bubbling up again as Mickey lugged himself down the street to the Gallaghers. _Fucking Gallaghers_. He was going to make this as quick and painless as he could for everyone, except Frank. Real quick, in and out. The less Gallaghers he would have to deal with the better, especially if he can avoid a tall ginger one. He decides to head to the back of the house in hopes less people will see him. Mickey's never been inside the Gallagher house before, has barely even been as close as he is now, he realizes as he's crossing the grassy backyard. He climbed the stairs up to the back door and sighed as he knocked, silently praying for anyone other than Ian to open the door.

     "What do you want?" _Oh thank god_. A slender women with messy dark hair open the door and was almost glaring at Mickey.

     "Frank here?"

     "Who's askin'?" she bit back, letting go of the door the cross her arms. He wasn't sure why, but Mickey almost felt intimidated by the women.

     "Collection day, ya ol' man's pretty behind, time to pay up," Mickey chanced a glance over the girl's shoulder to look into the house and felt himself relax when he saw the kitchen looked empty. The women just huffed a laugh and turned to go back inside, trying to slam the door close, but reopened it when Mickey stuck his thick-booted foot between the door and the jam. "Listen lady, someone's gonna pay or get roughed up, and it's either gonna be Frank or one of the other hundred kids ya got in there so let's just make this easier on all of us, huh?"

     "Fuckin' Frank," she huffed and left the door open as she stomped up the stairs to the right. Mickey couldn't help his curiosity as he stepped into the open kitchen area, closing the door behind him. He didn't allow himself to wonder too far, knowing this was dangerous territory for him, but still found himself strolling towards the living room. That is, until loud stomping coming from the kitchen stairs caught his attention.

     "Who was at the door Fiona- oh," Ian came to a whiplash-inducing stop the the bottom of the stairs when his eyes landed on Mickey Milkovich standing in the doorway between his kitchen and living room. "Mandy's not here," he said quietly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

     "Uh, yeah, I know, I'm uh, I'm looking for Frank," Mickey couldn't think straight but he also couldn't take his eyes off Ian. He looked big and broad, he had more muscle every time Mickey saw him, he swears. He could feel his mouth going dry and just wished there would be some distraction to get him out of here. He shook himself back to reality and tried gaining his control back.

     "Fucking Frank," Ian laughed and rolled his eyes, pushing of the wall. Mickey's heart stopped but also quickened when he thought the Ian was headed to him, until he turned at the very last second open the fridge. He only broke eye contact when he pulled the door open. Mickey suddenly cant remember the last time he had blinked or taken a steady breath, but cant actually will himself to do either. When Ian's standing up right again, he hands Mickey a beer and walks back to the kitchen table, looking at him again. "Ya gonna sit down or what?"

     "Oh, well I'm really just here for Frank," Mickey hesitated, even though he was already walking to the table to sit across from Ian.

     "I don't think he's even here, honestly. He's rarely here anymore," Ian spoke between sips of his beer, still refusing to take his eyes away from Mickeys face. He took a drink of his own and looked up to look back at Ian.

     "Yeah I know what you mean, Mandy says you're not coming over anymore. What, our house ain't good enough for you?" Mickey raises his eyebrows and leans back into his chair as he watches Ian tense up slightly and move his eyes from Mickey to the table. He plays with the label on his bottle and coughs lightly.

     "No, no, nothing like that, just uh, ya know, stuff," Ian mumbled. Mickey lowered his beer bottle and narrowed his eyes at the man sitting in front of him. He looked uncomfortable and nervous and he could swear he saw a slight blush to his cheeks.

     "Right, stuff, sure," Mickey wanted so badly to know why Ian refused to be at his house, it's been eating at him. He has to know. Maybe he could help keep his brothers and dad away if he knew for sure. "You sure its got nothing to do with you being scared of me and my brothers?" Ian almost chokes, snapping is eyes back up to look at Mickey. A slow smile lightens up his face as he tried not to laugh, and Mickey is focusing all his energy on not reacting to that smile.

     "God no, I mean sure, you guys are all tough and I know you're supposed to be scary, but I just don't think you're that bad. Your dad? Sure, but I mostly stay outta his way anyway," Ian continues to smile as he takes another swig of his beer. "It's just some, I don't know, personal stuff, I guess. But, uh, I think I'll be able to manage coming over again, now." He looks down at his hands and he totally is blushing now, "I mean, unless you don't like it when I'm over there-"

     "No! No, I mean, no, it's whatever. You keep Mandy out of my hair, so it's cool," Mickey mentally curses himself as he downs the rest of his beer. Could he be anymore of an ass right now? The answer is apparently yes when he finds himself starting to tell Ian he could hang out with him instead of Mandy if he ever wanted to. "Hey, uhm, if you ever wanna-" he was cut off by Fiona hopping down the stairs.

     "Well he was here but the second he realized someone was looking for him he hopped out the window so who knows where he's going," she gave the two boys at the table an odd look, confused at that sight of her brother getting almost cozy with a Milkovich at the kitchen table, but headed to the kitchen anyway to clean up the left over mess from lunch.

     "Well, fuckin Frank, right?," Mickey offered a quick smile to Ian raised his already empty bottle before standing up, "I'll just leave then, thanks for the beer Gallagher." He stands up to leave but is stopped by Ian's voice. When Mickey turns around, Ian's hand is slightly outstretched, like he was reaching for his arm but changed his mind half way.

     "Hey, will you tell Mandy I'll come over sometime tomorrow?"

     "Fuck off, tell her yourself," Mickey huffed, slightly disappointed, and walked out of the house. He's pretty sure he saw Ian smile at him before he closed the door. Even if he didn't, he'd definitely pretend he did.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three** _

 

  
     Someone in Mickey's subconscious has decided that he is all of the sudden a fidgety person when he's nervous. That same someone has also decided that he is a nervous person. Mickey thinks this person greatly resembles a freckly guy he knows, but he tries not to dwell on that anymore, even though he knows that said someone's been in his mind for a long time now. He knows that someone in his head is the bright part of his brain, the voice and body of hope, and everything good that is or could be. That someone is the optimist in Mickey, but he just looks so god damn much like Ian Gallagher it's annoying. He really thought he had killed him for good this time, that he'd never come back. And, all it took was one potential day with the ginger to get that red, glowing light to flicker back on in his head. But after years of fighting the light and transferring it from inside to his fits, Mickey decides he could do with a little brightness and hope. He's going to try to let it in and seep through his body, and if he ends up being a smidge nicer to people, maybe they just wouldn't noticed.

     That glowing light is the reason he has been sitting on his couch since he woke up bright and early, trying to act as though he's just hanging out. He wants to seem casual. Though, that's not easy when he's trying to be around when Ian shows up so he can hang out with the boy, no questions asked. It wont seem weird if Mickey just hangs around in the living room while Ian and Mandy spend time together, because its his house, damn it, and he was here first. And, if he just happens to be sitting in the middle of he couch, it's because that was just the most comfortable spot, not because he's trying to keep his sister away from Ian.

     Ian had never specified when he'd be coming over, though, so Mickey has pretty much been camped out on the couch for hours, and just became more shaky the longer he sat there. It didn't help that Mandy kept coming out and huffing away back into her room, almost as if she was waiting for him to get up and leave. A knock at the door snaps him out of his thoughts, and he jumps up before realizing what he's doing, and slouches back down in the couch, grabbing the remote to skim through the channels.

     "Hey assface, are you gonna get outta here now?" Mandy smacks the back of Mickey's head as she passes.

     "Fuck no, I was here first," Mickey grumbles, turning around a bit to watch his sister open the door. Ian slides in and Mickey can just feel the hope bubbling up. He turns back to his mindless channel surfing before he blows his cover.

     "Hey, Mick," Ian plops himself down onto the couch on Mickey's right, smile as bright and evident as ever, "what're we watchin'?" He leans into the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table, and tilts his head to smile up at Mandy. "You sittin' down, Mands?"

     "I guess," she murmurs as she sits on Mickey's left, almost cautiously. She tries to look around her brothers head to grabs her friends attention, but Ian seems to be keep his head focused so stilly on the tv, its like his life depended on it. She's so annoyed the Mickey wouldn't just fuck off and let her and Ian have their alone time. Mandy really didn't like sharing Ian much, and she'd be damned if she had to start sharing him with her fucking brother of all people. Ian was her safe place; he was always there for and made her feel better. No one in the world could look at that freckly smile and not feel instant relief, she was convinced. She was so annoyed her leg was shaking. So annoyed, she tried staring holes in Mickey's head. So annoyed she almost missed that Ian was talking, babbling, really. But, just as well, he didn't seem to even be talking to her.

     "-and it was just funny, ya know, cause, like, who steals a baby, right? But, oh family, of course. And then it was just a whole day of trying to get this kid back to his family and, and..." Ian trailed off when he noticed not only was Mickey staring at him, but Mandy was too. He coughed awkwardly, and looked back at the tv. "Just, kind funny, I guess."

     "All I asked was what's up, Gallagher," Mickey let himself smile before tossing Ian the remote and standing up to go to the kitchen. He poked around the fridge until he pulled out two beers, but had to go back for the whole case. He couldn't just get beers for him and Ian, not with Mandy sitting right there, someone would the wrong idea. He sighed and walked to back to the couch before coming to a complete halt. Mandy had taken him spot on the middle of the couch, but was completely curled up on Ian, clinging to him for dear life. Gallagher didn't look too comfortable but he also didn't look put off by it either. Mickey couldn't bare to watch but he also didn't want to leave leave them alone together, lest Mandy decides to try to make a move on the redhead. He sat in his sisters abandoned seat, as the close to the arm and as far from the cuddling couple as he could get, leaving the six pack in his lap.

     "Ya gonna drink all those yourself, Mick?" Mickey looked up to see Ian staring at him over Mandy's head, slight smirk sitting on his face. Mickey raised his eyebrows and leaned back into the corner of the couch, twisting a bit, so he could look at him better, and tossed his right arm on the back of the couch.

     "I wasn't plannin' on it but i looks like I am now." Ian gave him a puzzled look before turning his attention back to whatever action movie Mandy had put on. Mickey let his mind drift as he mindlessly watched the movie. He kept thinking of how jealous he actually was of his sitter in the moment. She got to lean on Ian and touch him and just do whatever the hell she wanted to. His mind fluttered back to when the first became friends, the way she acted around him. They really did seem like they were dating; always touching, even kissing on the cheeks. Their arms were always linked when they walked literally anywhere. Even though it always seemed like Mandy was initiated the intimacies, Ian never seemed like he was trying to stop them. Where they really dating in the beginning, but then Ian had realized he was gay? Maybe Ian was just using Mandy as a fake girlfriend, a cover, to keep himself safe from people like the Milkovich men, and Mandy was just really playing the part.

     His thoughts were interrupted when Iggy came bursting through the front door. "Hey fuckface," he said as he tried catching his breath.

     "Yeah?" The trio all said in unison, not even looking up at the door. Iggy only shook his head, laughing lightly.

     "No, shitheads, fuckface number one." Mickey looked up at that.

     "What do you want?"

     "Dad's coming, looking for you, unhappy," Iggy just barely got his bullet pointed summary out before he was being shoved aside by the devil himself; Terry. His face was red, sweat beading on his forehead. He came barreling through the house straight to Mickey, how stood up to meet his dad, brows furrowed in confusion.

     "What's up da-" the back of Terry's right hand smacking across his face cut off Mickey's words. Ian jumped up but Mandy just sighed.

     "Come on, lets get the fuck outta here," she started pulling him towards the door, but Terry stopped them, now looking at Ian with the same furry he had shown Mickey.

     "A Gallagher? Nah, you stay the fuck there, kid, you can be next," Terry spat before turning back to Mickey, grabbing two fist fills of his shirt and shoving him hard into the wall behind them, holding him firmly. Mickey's eyes immediately went to Ian, who had visibly tensed up, watching as the scene played out in front of him. "I gave you one fucking job, one job you've done a hundred times. Is your head so far up your fucking ass you can't even shake down Frank Gallagher of all people?" Mickey's eyes widen and slid back to his father. _Fuck_. He had been so caught up in thoughts of a younger Gallagher that he completely forgot to go searching for the dead beat Frank the day before. He didn't get a chance to try explaining anything before his father's fist was coming down on his jaw. "He just walked into the fucking bar trying to make chitchat with me like we're square."

     Mickey began slumping more and more with every punch that was thrown are his face and stomach, until Terry was the only thing holding him up. He dropped him and started throwing hard kicks to his son. The younger Milkovich knew better than to fight back or even try to protect himself. He just lays there, in what's slowly turning into a puddle of his blood. With every blow to his body Mickey can feel that nice red light drop out of like his blood. But, still, its the light that keeps from slipping. He keeps his eyes closed for the most part, but chances looks up to Ian from he's standing in front of the couch still. He keeps going back and forth between glaring at the back of Terry's head and giving Mickey these weird, sympathetic, almost soft looks. Mickey eventually tunes his father out, getting the gist of his point after the third time he calls him mentally challenged. Now he's just staring at Ian, with what he assuming are tears running down his face but is praying is just blood.

     Mickey can't feel most of his body anymore and must've slipped into unconsciousness for a moment because doesn't even notice his dad has stopped beating the shit out of him until he feels someone pulling him up. He winces and clutches his side, figuring at the very least one rib is broken. Everything is blurry and his head is starting to pound with the movement. "Mick?" He hears a voice to his left, its low and shaky. "Mickey? I need to know if you can hear me? Can you talk?" He feels a pressure on his arm and assumes whoever is talking to him is gripping his arm.

     "Where did he go?" Mickey mumbles through a mouth full of blood.

     "He left, Mick. He's gone, it's okay." The voice still spoke softly. Mickey looked up to his left and sees its Ian. He blinks to help his eyes focus, and the look of and on Ian's face hurts almost as much as what he just went through. Mickey fights lifting his hand to touch the redhead's face. He's slowly developing a black eye, and his lip and cheek or dripping with blood. He looks worried and scared.

     "Did he do that? Did he touch you?" He cant believe how soft his voice is. Mandy appears next to Ian, but only to hand him a damp rag and a bag of whatever she could find in the freezer.

     "Yeah," Ian laughs, "don't worry about me. Just trying to rough me up a little bit. Trying to scare me or Frank, who the fuck knows." He's still looking at him so softly. He brings the rag up to Mickey's face and he does everything he can not to flinch away form the touch, but apparently still does because Ian just laughs and scoots a little closer. He's let go of Mickey's arm and moved it to his face, lightly holding and touching it to move it around, getting a better look at the bruises and clean up as much blood as he can. Mickey's eyes never leave leave Ian's, they wouldn't, even if he tried.

     "He shouldn't have touched you," Mickey grumbles, mostly to himself, and creases his eyebrows as he thinks about his father laying a hand on such a colorful being. He's glad he didn't witness the exchange because he doesn't think he would've reacted so well, but also hates himself for not being able to defend the younger boy. Ian just keeps laughing, blowing his breath onto Mickey's face. _Why the fuck does he keep laughing? Doesn't he know what could've happened?_ "Its not funny."

     "No, no you're right," Ian straightens his face and sits up a little taller. He lowers the rag but still keeps his right hand on Mickey's cheek. "It's not funny that he hit me and it's really not funny what he did to you, I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at that though. Just that you're here lying on the floor looking dead and you're worried about me? He barely touched me." Ian offers him a small smile. Mickey's brow furrows even more, as if it was possible. He raises his right hand slowly to meet Ian's face, and runs his thumb over his bottom lip, catching as much blood as he can in one swipe.

     "He made you bleed." The two stare at each other for a moment before Mickey tenses slightly and begins looking around the room. Ian lowers his hand from Mickey's face and rests in one the ground next to where Mickey's is.

     "Iggy went after Terry when he left, and Mandy said she was gonna go shower before you inevitably use all the hot water," Ian almost whispers. Mickey turns his eyes back to Ian before grabbing the rag out of his hand, their fingers brushing lightly. He reaches up and begins cleaning the dried blood off the the gingers face. Whenever Mickey had thought of Ian, he thought of red, and whenever he thought of anything red he thought of Ian. Now that beautiful connection felt tainted with the thought of thick crimson dripping down his face. He never wanted to see Ian's blood again, never wanted to see harsh, dark bruises forming on his soft, pale skin.

     When they've washed each other's faces clean, and then some, Ian begins standing up, pulling Mickey up with him. He wraps Mickey's left arm over his shoulder and holds it there with his own left hand grasping the other's, while he slinks his right arm around his waist. "Okay, where do you want me to put you and what do you want me to get you?" He turns his head to look at Mickey, who all but rolls his eyes.

     "Fuck off, Gallagher, I'm fine." He makes to pull away from Ian but his grip around Mickey tightens.

     "Stop being an asshole and just accept the help, Jesus."

     "Fine, fuck, just-just take me to my bed and get whatever alcohol we've got," Mickey nods towards the kitchen. They make their way to his bedroom, and Ian deposits the shorter man onto his bed. Mickey barely has time to register that Ian left the room before he's back with a six pack of beer and a couple bottles of liquor. He sets them on the messy bedside table and sits on the edge of Mickey's bed.

     "Need anything else?" He's twisting his hands in his lap, smiling down at Mickey.

     "Besides telling your dad he's a dead man, you can fuck of," Mickey tries to sound vicious, but there's no real heat behind his words in the end. Ian just chuckles.

     "Yeah, okay. Hey, on the bright side, with Terry taking care of Frank this time, he'll probably take the hint and leave you guys alone now." He shrugs and stands up, patting Mickey's thigh twice. "See around, Mick." He smile's a little bright and turns to leave his room, pulling it closed as he goes, but still leaving it cracked. Mickey grabs the closet bottle of liquor he could reach, half a bottle of vodka, and took a couple gulps. Ian pops his head back in through the cracked door. "Hey, am I fuckface number three? Because, like, yeah I get Mandy would be second in line since she's family, but I just feel my face says fuck more than hers does, don't ya think?"

     "Yeah, sure, buddy, I'll put in a word with Iggy and get that all worked out for ya," Mickey rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile.

     "I promise not to disgrace the good fuckface name if you pull through on this for me." Ian leaves the room for good this time, but Mickey can hear him chanting all the way to the front door about claiming his new title as number two.

     Mickey laughs and downs the rest of his vodka. It only burns his throat slightly; it was nothing on the sting he can still feel everywhere Ian touched him. He doesn't know how long he's thinking about the worse things Terry would do if he ever caught scent or sight of Ian with Mickey in ways Mickey has only ever dreamed of, but eventually he forces himself to stop. His head hurts from all the bloody images of Gallagher's limp body body floating around, and tries to think of more pleasant pictures. He falls asleep that night to the thought holding Ian's hand, resting his head on the taller boys shoulder, talking and laughing and just being, a gentle red glow surrounding them. Maybe opening up to the Ian part of his brain wasn't so bad after all, bit if he could get more touches for the guy. Either way; he was truly fucked for good.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four** _

 

  
     If Ian wasn't scared of the Milkovich family before, he sure was now. Three weeks Mickey's been holed up in his house, trying to just be around at a moments notice in case his dad decided he needed him for something. Except Terry hardly looked at Mickey, and when he did, it was usually accompanied by a slap to the boy's face. Mickey was trying really hard to prove to his dad that he was loyal and could make up for the Frank incident. At no time in those three weeks did Ian once show his face at the Milkovich house. Never once did Mandy even mention her ginger friend. Mickey was grateful because is was much easier to try to hate Gallagher when he wasn't invading his home. But, he really did miss seeing that red hair perched on his couch when he walked into the living room.

     This constant mental flip-flopping had to stop. One minute he wasn't even thinking of Gallagher, didn't even know he existed, but the next, he was a puddle of goo on the ground. He was getting dizzy from all the back and forth. He wished he could be all in one way or another; either completely disconnect himself from Gallagher, get over every feeling he's ever had for the redhead, or be fully committed to him, make an effort to be with him. He couldn't even use the argument of Ian being uninterested in him because their last few encounters left Mickey wondering if maybe Ian really did see something in him. He could still feel the tension that surrounded them when they had been alone, and the heat of Ian's body touching his own. The looks he was always giving Mickey, the blush that always danced on his face had to mean something. Or else, Mickey was just that delusional and was making stuff up to try to convince himself that something could really happen between the two.

     Mickey was pacing around the house in his boxers and worn out wife beater, trying to find something to do to distract him from his red thoughts. He plopped himself down on the left side of the couch, throwing his right arm up to hang off the back, and began flipping through tv channels. Mandy came through the door with an honest to God smile on her face. "Dad's locked up," she said, almost sweetly. Mickey sat up a lot straighter to look at his sister better from where she still stood in the door way.

     "What the fuck happened?"

     "One of his guys snitched," she shrugged, "guess he'd get less time himself if he told the cops who he got the drugs from so, no brainer really." She came into the house fully and sat herself in the center of the couch next to Mickey. Mickey was staring off somewhere trying to gage how safe and free he was for the time being with Terry out of the picture, he hadn't even noticed someone else enter the house. Ian sat down on the other side of Mandy and offered a smile to Mickey.

     Mickey looked away before Ian could say anything and tossed the remote into Mandy's lap and moved to stand up. "You're not going to hang out, Mick?" Both Milkovich siblings snapped their heads around to look at Ian. Mickey looked confused, like Ian was speaking a different language, but Mandy looked pissed. Mickey slowly settled back down, still staring at Ian.

     "I mean, I guess," he murmured, putting his hand back on the couch as he leaned into it again. The grin Ian gave him when he was fully seated was brighter than any star in the sky, Mickey was sure of it. Mandy broke the moment by huffing and throwing the remote on the table. She leaned over to her right until she was pressed into Ian's side, practically laying in his lap. Ian let his arm rest lightly around her waist and Mickey wanted to be sick. Reruns of some old MTV show filled the silence of living room and Mickey just couldn't focus on the plot. He noticed that every once in a while Ian would look his way and let his eyes linger a while until Mickey made like he was going to look back at the ginger, which he usually did once Ian's attention was redirected to the show.

     He tried to make it casual, Mickey thinks, he tried to make it seem like there was no intent; Ian slowly but surly lifts his left arm from where it laid on Mandy's back, and rested it on the back of the couch, bent at the elbow as to be sure he didn't knock Mickey's hand with his own, no matter how badly he wanted him to. Every once in a while he would stretch his fingers out before pulling them back into a loose fist. Ian's so Ian. Who does that shit? He glared at the side of Ian's head before turning his attention back to the show just as a new episode was staring.

     Mickey doesn't even know when it happened, didn't see it coming, didn't even register the sensation, but it happened. He looked up to glance at Ian when he noticed it. Somewhere between the opening and end credits of this episode, they made contact. They were playing with each other's fingers. Rubbing and tracing; it was like weird finger sex or something. Mickey pulled his hand back and shot up from his seat so fast he startled Ian, shaking Mandy in return. Ian was staring up at him, his eyes wide and bright, his cheeks are slightly pink. Mickey turned around and all but ran to his room and slamming the door behind him. He leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath.

     He looked down at his hands and noticed he was twirling his fingers the same way Ian had back on the couch. His heart was racing and he couldn't focus on his thoughts. Did Ian know about Mickey? He couldn't. So why the hell was he playing hand footsie with Southside's second worst (alleged) homophobe? He hadn't noticed he was pacing his cluttered room until his door quietly opened. Ian Fucking Gallagher himself slid into the bedroom and leaned his back on the door as he closed and locked it.

     "Mickey I-"

     "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Mickey cut him off. He tried so hard to avoid eye contact because he knew he wouldn't be able to stop his hands from touching the taller boy if he looked at him right now. "Get the fuck out of here now, Gallagher.

     "Mandy's asleep. I told her I was coming in to use the bathroom, but she was passed out before I was even standing," Ian spoke evenly, he sounded so calm, which Mickey didn't understand because he was freaking out internally. "I wanted to, uhm, well I don't know." Mickey hadn't noticed Ian was slowly making his way to the older boy, only coming to a stop when the back of Mickey's legs hit his bed and he had to look up just to see Gallagher's face. His breath hitched, any words he wanted to say got caught in his throat. Seeing those freckles that close was like looking up into the starry sky out in the country. Mickey wants to trace them, to connect them, to draw pictures on his pale skin from them. But, he can't be here. They can't do this, and lord knows Mickey wants to. He needs to get him out because he's staring to panic. He pushes Ian's chest hard with both hands.

     "I said get the fuck out of here!" Mickey was screaming now. Ian just pursed his lips in thought before taking two steps back towards Mickey, tilting his head to the right.

     "Want me to go?"

     "I'm speaking fuckin' English aren't I?" Mickey crossed his arms.

     "I just think it's funny that you were out there holding my hand and now you don't-" Ian was cut off with a swift blow to his jaw. He stumbled back at bit and grabbed his face with his hands. "What the fuck, Mickey!" He yelled.

     "I told you to fucking go it's not my problem you can't listen for shit." Mickey was breathing heavily but the anger was short lived. As his adrenaline quickly fell, his guilt raised. He looked all over Ian's face and his eyes slowly widen. Did he really just hit Ian? He looked down at his hands and they were shaking. "I'm-"

     "Fag bashing in the bedroom now, huh? That's kind of a new low, isn't it?" Ian laughed and rolled his eyes.

     "No, no that's not- I wasn't trying to-" Mickey didn't know how to get his thoughts out. How did he tell Ian he'd never hurt him, and that he definitely wouldn't hurt him for fucking dudes? Ian just laughed again and started backing away.

     "Nah man, its cool. My fault for coming to the Milkovich house, let alone following one into their room. Don't worry, you won't have to fucking worry about me trying to come on to you or some shit." Ian sounded angry now, and Mickey thinks he's scared. How could things have gotten so fucked in a matter of seconds? Ian shook his head and left Mickey's room, slamming his door behind him. A few seconds later Mickey heard the front door slam and could here the faint sound of Ian yelling 'fuck' on the front porch. He fell down to sit on his bed and held his head in his hands. How could he have fucked this up so bad? He'd never see Ian again. He grabbed whatever clothes he could find within arms reach and some shoes and put them on while he thought about the newest mess he made for himself.

     "What the fuck did you do?" Mandy burst through his room looking angrier than Ian had. Mickey looked up and stumbled to find something to say, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I asked you to do one fucking thing. Don't touch my god damn friend. So what do you do? You bust his fucking jaw! I get that beating the fucking straight into every damn queen this side of Chicago is your life's biggest achievement but I'm your damn sister so that has to fucking count for something when I ask you not beat the shit out of the one fucking good thing in my life." Her chest was raising and falling rapidly and her face is red.

     "Fuck off with all that, Mandy. You still think you've got a fucking chance in hell with the guy but you don't. He's a fucking faggot, unless you gotta dick he's not interested." Mickey stood up and knocked his sister's shoulder with his own as he left his room and through the front door, ignoring the booming 'fuck you' coming from somewhere inside. He looked up and down the street before sighing and started walking. He knew exactly where he'd end up before he even thought about where he wanted to go. He just needed to get away from his house and deep down he just wanted to be around the one person who always made him feel good.

     Mickey wasn't one to apologize. He gets shit done right the first time, and even when mistakes are made, you stop being a bitch and get over it. Shit happens. But he really needed to say something now. He hurt Ian and had made him think that Mickey was a real threat to him, but he wasn't. Ian had to know. He got half way to the Gallagher house when he realized he actually didn't want to fucking apologize, at least not this way. If he knocked on that door right now, who knew how many other of the fuckers where wondering around inside. No way he was going near that right now. "Fuck," he breathed out into the empty street. He rubbed his hands over his face. He needed a fucking drink and food. He turned around and walked around town till he made it to the Kash and Grab.

     The whole way to the store, Mickey just kept replaying the scene over and over in his head. He could still hear the sound of his fist connecting with Ian's face and it rang in his ears. His knuckles still stung. His heart still pounded. His stomach still churned. Maybe if Ian hated him now he would be able to just move on from all of this. He assaulted Ian, there was no way he'd just forgive and forget. He'd probably never talk to him again, maybe he'd stop coming the Milkovich house once and for all. Mandy was going to kill him.

     He finally made it to the front of the shop and tried to go inside but it was locked. He figured anyone who was working was on break which would make stealing shit ten times easier, he just had to get inside. He walked around through the alley and wasn't surprised to find the back door unlocked. So he let himself in. Towelhead's fucking fault for not locking the damn door before he left. He heard muffled grunting coming from somewhere in the shop and made his way out of the back to see what it was. The second he turned the corner to go past the refrigerated wall, Mickey was met with the source of the grunting. He could only see the back of a head of fire red hair, but that's all he needed to know who it was. Ian was fucking some dude right there in the middle of the aisle. They were moaning and groaning and cursing and Mickey thought he was going to be sick.

     "What the fuck is this?" He yelled over the continuous grunts. Fuckhead one and two pulled away from each other, stood up, and pulled their pants on in record speed. They both stared and Mickey while they tried to catch their breath. Mickey looked at the man behind Ian and felt his rage double in size. Towelhead? Ian was really fucking this old creep? What the fuck?

     "Mickey? What the hell-" Ian started, but was cut off.

     "Shut the fuck up, Gallagher." Mickey bit sharply, without taking his eyes off Kash, who had slowly backed away from the younger man and kept his head down. "You like fucking kids? Or having kids fuck you, I guess. Huh?" Mickey walked towards Kash. His arm brushed Ian slightly as he passed him, and he felt the ginger's hand around his arm to try to stop him. He just yanked his hand back and cornered against the shelves and the freezers. "You think your wife and kids are gonna be happy when I tell them you've been fucking around with a fifteen year old boy?" Kash's eyes lifted over Mickey's shoulder to look at Ian. "Don't fucking look at him," Mickey shot as he smacked the mans face back to look at him. "You're fucked. And not the way you like."

     Mickey barely had control over his body anymore, he barely heard or felt anything. He was just wailing on the older man. Throwing punch after punch to his face and gut until Mickey was holding him up by the shirt. In the faint distant Mickey could hear someone yelling for him to stop but he just couldn't. All of his anger that he had for himself hitting Ian and now finding Ian with this pedophiliac creep fucking on the ground fueled his fists to a never ending reign. He let go of Kash and let him fall to the ground. Mickey only got a few kicks in to the stomach and crotch before he was being pulled back. He snapped back around with fire still in his eyes and was meant with wide green ones. Ian was holding both of Mickey's arms and was pulling him out of the aisle back by the door to the freezer.

     "Mick, hey, Mickey. You gotta fucking stop," Ian sounded calm but authoritative. His brow was furrowed and he looked mad. But, also kind of scared and something else Mickey couldn't read. Their eyes never left one another and Mickey finally felt himself calming down. Behind them, they heard Kash curse and stumble.

     "Fuck," Mickey whispered when he looked around the wall to see Kash almost fully standing. "Come on," he said to Ian and pulled him behind him as he ran through the back door. He kept hold on his arm until they made it to the next alley. They kept running and never looked back or slowed. Mickey let his mind wonder as they through streets and alleys. He felt light and free, and with Ian by his side, happy. Would this be would it would feel like if they ran away together? He let himself pretend that's just what they were doing. Running away. Maybe they'd go somewhere sunny with beaches. The further away the better. Maybe Mexico? Mickey knew Ian was following him because he could hear him not far behind him. He finally ran into another alley and tried catching his breath, as Ian ran in after him.

     "What the fuck, Mickey?" He yelled from the mouth of the alley. Mickey turned around to face the tall boy and walked closer to him.

     "He's a fucking pedophile, Gallagher, he shouldn't have touched you."

     "Neither should you, but at least he didn't fucking hit me," his voiced still booming, every word echoing off the walls and hitting Mickey twice as hard. He pushed Mickey back and glared at him. Mickey rubbed his nose with his knuckle a few times before stepping closer to Ian again. When Ian stuck his arm out to make Mickey keep his distance, he just grabbed the freckly limb and pulled the ginger closer to him still. He heard Ian's breath hitch and felt his own heart beat faster. Mickey's officially lost count of how many times he's lost control of his body today, but this feels right. He feels scared but he's with Ian, so he also feels safe. He lets his body and mind do what they want.

     "I'm sorry I hit you. I shouldn't have done it, and I didn't do it for the reason you think I did," Mickey spoke so quietly he barely heard himself.

     "Then why the fuck did you punch me?" Ian's eyebrows knotted and but is voice was level. Mickey's clutch around his arm tightened a bit and he rubbed his thumb over the freckled skin just once. Maybe Gallagher wouldn't notice. Except he totally did because his eyes flicked down to Mickey's hand for a split second before looking back into his blue eyes.

     "Its fucking complicated. I cant- I can't just fucking tell you but I really didn't mean to do it." He dropped Ian's arm. "I- I mean I'm- fuck," he sighed. How could he admit something to Ian that he couldn't even admit to himself? He turned around and rubbed his hands over his face. He sighed and looked back at Ian. "I just don't hate you or whatever. I don't fucking care who you screw." Lie. Mickey very much cared who Ian was screwing. He didn't want him touching or even thinking about anyone except him. Ian actually smiled and huffed out a small laugh.

     "Hey, I have to get home, tell my sister I probably can't help with money since I most likely lost my job," he laughed, Mickey winced, "but, uhm, no ones gonna be round tomorrow night, like after seven, if you wanna come over and hang out? Ya know, since you don't hate me or whatever." Ian's smile brightened even more and Mickey swears his heat stopped beating. Wasn't Ian just mad at him? Didn't Mickey just beat the shit out of his boyfriend? Why did he want to hang out with him now?

     "Yeah, we'll see, firecrotch," Mickey said as stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. He backed away slowly, the two continuing to stare at each other. "Definitely a firecrotch, by the way. Totally the same shade as your hair." Mickey turned around and started walking away.

     "Bullshit you saw my fucking pubes!" Ian called back. Mickey turned around to walk backwards again.

     "The whole Southside could see them with how fucking red they are, man," Mickey yelled. He turned around and shook his head, laughing at Ian's fading protests and 'fuck you's until he turned a corner. What the fuck just happened and did he just get invited to a fucking play date with Gallagher? He could almost hear his inner Ian to tell him to look on the bright side. Fuck 'bright sides' he thought. They weren't real. Bad shit happened all the time with no good thing to come out of it. Bright sides were bullshit that parents tell kids so they stop throwing fits. Bright sides weren't a thing, especially not where he was from.

     That being said, had there been a bright side to this, it was that Gallagher didn't hate him, that they were talking, that they were friendly and joking with each other. But, again, bright sides aren't real, so what the fuck did that matter? Bright side or not, Mickey was definitely going to have to pay a visit that sick fuck Kash's family and let them in on daddy's secret. He never did get his beer from the convenience store; this was gonna be a long fucking night.


	5. Chapter 5

**_ Chapter Five _ **

 

  
     Mickey woke up to a new sensation. He closed his eyes tighter and heard a moan escape his lips. He felt his hips moving in circles and as he slowly came to his senses, he realized someone was blowing him. He looked down and saw a mop of redd hair bobbing up and down on his dick. He tried to find words, any words, a single word, but nothing came out of his mouth but moaning and heavy breathing. What was going on? When and how did Ian get in his room and why the hell was he blowing him? He rolled his head back onto the pillows and closed his eyes again. If this was what it was like being with Ian Gallagher, Mickey could get used to it.

     He must've come home with him. Right? He'd probably gotten drunk last night to wash away the though of Ian, but instead got him into his bed. He hadn't even noticed how close he was to orgasming until felt Ian humming around him and he came right down his throat. Mickey was breathing heavy and felt dead on his bed. "Fuck, Ian." He whispered. He smiled and opened his eyes, only he wasn't met with the beautiful freckly face he was expecting.

     "You faggoty little bitch," Terry sneered. Ian wasn't in his line of sight anymore, all he could see was his father standing at the end of the bed. Mickey tried to sit up, to get off the bed, but before he even had a chance to blink, Terry was over him and landing punches into his face. He couldn't talk or move and all he could hear and feel was the sound of his dad grunting and cussing, the sound of skin hitting skin, and the feeling of blood all over him. He even thinks he hears bone breaking a couple times. He can no longer locate where Terry his hitting him, if he's even still hitting or if he's kicking him. He might as well be shooting him. Mickey feels himself going light headed. Where's Ian? Is he okay? Did he make it out and hide before Terry could find him or did his father get to the ginger before him? He felt himself losing consciousness and with the last breath he could muster, he called out for Ian.

     Mickey bolted up in bed, gasping for air. He looked around his room with wide eyes. He stayed unmoved until his breath finally leveled out and he could think better with the oxygen he was now able to supply to his brain. _What the fuck?_  Mickey had never had a dream so fucked up in his life, he rarely even remembered what he'd dreamt about moments after waking up. But, this? He'd have a hard time shaking this nightmare, because that's really what it was. He's glad he doesn't know shit about dream interpretation because there has got to be some fucked meaning behind what he just witnessed, and he doesn't think he wants to know more.

     He looks at the clock and sees its already almost six at night. "Oh what the fuck," he groaned to himself. He sat at the edge of his bed and looked around his room to try to collect any memory from the night before. He remembers stoping at the Alibi on his way home last night. He must've been there for a long time because he also remembers that the bartender came to collect his shot and beer glasses twice because there were so many surrounding him. He's sure he stopped by somewhere to get some fucking drug on the way back because why the fuck wouldn't he. Apparently his attempts to forget Ian the previous day and what he'd have to endure tonight were all for naught. "Fuck," he groaned again. He almost forgot about tonight. He'd need to start getting ready, mentally and physically, but he was just so nervous.

     What was he supposed to except tonight? Was this going to just be a lot of awkward silence and heavy tension while they just sat on the couch and watched tv, like it always was at his own house? And, why had Gallagher told him to come over anyway? He was pissed at him for not only hitting him but also for beating the shit out of his fucking boyfriend. Boyfriend. Did Mickey really wanna go sit with this guy he hasn't stopped thinking about since he was a fucking kid who now had a guy to fuck whenever he wanted, who was more than twice his fucking age. At least if he was with Ian tonight, he knew he couldn't go off and be with towelhead. There he was, looking on a bright side again. Mickey rolled his eyes to himself and headed to his bathroom to shower. And, if he pictured Ian while he jerked himself off into the hot water, the gingers face never once morphed into the menacing sneer of his father.

  
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     Only one other time has Mickey ever found himself on the doorstep of the Gallagher house, and it had not ended well in the long run. He was on the front porch this time, and it took him much longer to knock on the door. But, he finally did, and Ian must've been waiting for him because he barely pulled his hand back from the door when it was whipped opened. "Hey," Ian smiled at him. Mickey shuffled back and forth between his feet.

     "Gonna let me in?" Ian nodded and stepped behind the door to allow Mickey to pass through. Mickey hadn't gotten a chance to get a good look at anything but the kitchen last time he was here, so he decides to walk around the living room and take in the sights. The Gallagher house may have been as old and rickety as the Milkovich house, but it definitely had a more homey feel to it. It looked lived in, but not in the worst way. There were toys on the ground and table, but also beer bottles and cigarette butts. A warn blanket was thrown over the back of the raggedy couch, and family photos lined the mantle. Part of Mickey was jealous of the familial sense that surrounded the home. He turned and looked at Ian who was staring at him from in front of the staircase. Of course he was. "The fuck are you lookin' at?" He snapped.

     "Nothing," Ian answered, albeit a little too quick, "want a beer?" He pointed to the kitchen with his thumb. Mickey raised his eyebrows.

     "Why're you asking stupid fucking questions?"

     "Right, yeah, okay," Ian chuckled and strolled into the kitchen, finally taking his eyes off Mickey. He sat down on the couch and stretched out a bit, still looking around the room. For a family with fifty fucking kids living out here, the house didn't seem too bad. It was nice and cozy and Mickey wouldn't mind spending more time here.

     "I'm glad you came," Ian announced as he dropped on the other end of the couch, handing Mickey an open beer bottle. All of the sudden, he's feeling nervous again.

     "Why?"

     "I don't know. I mean, you seem cool, ya know? Mandy's cool, I love her, but having one friend who's a girl kinda lacks," Ian explained. Mickey hummed around his beer bottle and just stared straight ahead. He was trying to figure out what was currently happening and what was going to eventually happen. Did Gallagher really invite him over to be friends? This whole thing was weird. Mickey's mind hadn't really drifted away from the day before, and it was stressing him out.

     "You talk to Mandy since yesterday?" Mickey chances a sidelong look at the ginger next to him, but snaps his head forward again when he sees Ian's still fucking staring.

     "Not really, she asked what we were gonna do tonight but I told her I had plans, why?" _Plans, right_. He was probably gonna go fuck his boss the second Mickey left. What was he doing here? He shouldn't have come. He doesn't want to be friends with Gallagher. He should go. And yet.

     "She's fucking pissed at me. Came storming into my room yesterday screaming her damn head off and I haven't seen her around."

     "Why is she avoiding you?" Mickey looked down at his hands and played with the peeling label on his beer.

     "For-because I- for hitting you," I finally admits quietly. He still feels like shit for ever laying an unfriendly hand on Ian.

     "Why'd you do it?"

     "Because I-" Mickey coughs and stops himself from admitting the truth. He looks around the room for a minute before his eyes fall on the green ones beside him. He feels himself melting instantly at the gaze. It would be so easy to just tell Ian, it would probably feel like a weight off his chest. But, he didn't know how he was supposed to tell Ian that not only does he also like dudes, he likes him, a lot, and has for a long time now. What if that little piece of information scared Ian? The fact that Mickey was just always thinking about him, that's probably creepy to most people. He just coughs and tries a subject change "Did you lose your job cause of me?" He asked quietly. Ian sighed.

     "Nah, I texted Kash this morning. He was pissed but thinks it was just another Milkovich gay bash so he didn't really blame me. But it's gonna be awkward now cause I'm not really that interested in continuing whatever the fuck were doing." That raised a lot of thoughts and questions in his mind. He wanted to know more.

     "That's not why-" he sighed. He didn't want to get into his reasoning for beating up Ian's boyfriend right now. "Why do you want to stop?" Yeah that was totally a better thing to say.

     "It's just getting weird, I guess. Plus, well, not that you'd care about boy talk, but I've got a bit of a thing for this guy." A slight grin tugs at the redhead's lips while the two boys stare at each other. Mickey feels heat raise in his body. This isn't what he wanted to do. He doesn't think he _could_  do this right now. He feels sick and really wants to leave now. Maybe he could say he had shit to do, or he could just walk out. He just nods, not wanting to encourage Ian to give him anymore information. "So, I told you about the new guy, you gonna tell me why you hit me now?" Mickey rubbed his face in annoyance. Fucker just never gave up, did he?

     Ian must've caught on to his discomfort because he started to soothe him. "Hey, it's okay," Ian said softly. Mickey snapped back to reality and looked over at Ian, who seemed to have moved closer. His hand was on Mickey's shoulder and it felt like fire. "You can keep your secrets. We all need 'em." He takes his hand away from Mickey's body and continues to drink his beer.

     "Yeah? Cause yours was so good?" He was grateful for a slight distraction, and the new topic focus of Ian gave him an excuse to stare at him without it being weird. Mickey leaned back onto the arm of the couch, turning his body to look at Ian better. He gulped the last of his beer and set it on the table. Ian bobbed his head from side to side, contemplating.

     "Well I mean, it is a pretty good secret. The mystery is even better; who could it be?" He was just teasing Mickey at this point.

     "What, you got another fuckin' forty year old boyfriend?" Mickey sounds annoyed and he's glad. He hates everything about what's going on and wants Ian to know. Maybe if he was enough of a dick he'd let Mickey go and stay the fuck away from him. Ian just burst out laughing, like, leaning forward, grasping his stomach, gasping for air; the whole shebang. Mickey's face becomes even more annoyed and confused as he stares at the laughing fit.

     "Wait, another? Kash? My fucking boyfriend? Jesus Christ," he finally gasped out in between laughing. He wiped actual tears from his cheeks and just looked back at Mickey whose mouth was agape. "Nah, man, Kash isn't my boyfriend. I mean, maybe he thinks we are, but whatever. He's my boss, ya know? So I kinda just let him think what he wants. Like I said, I'm not that into it. He was just always around, you know? If I was bored or lonely or upset he was always there. But, uhm, then the new guy came around and, I don't know." Mickey looked down at this lap and knotted his brows together in thought. So he had a new fucking guy and was fucking some old guy. _Great_. How much old man ass did he really need?

     "I mean, the guy was always around, I've kinda known him a while," Ian spoke again, making Mickey look up to him again, "I've just been seeing him around more lately. I think I used to have like, a crush or whatever on him when I was younger but, I don't know. I don't think anything can happen though."

     "Why the fuck not? You like him?" Ian nodded, "well I don't see the fucking problem then, isn't not like there's something wrong with you." His eyes widen a bit and he felt a blush creep over his cheeks. He bit his bottom lip while he waited for Ian to say something, hopefully something stupid to take the distraction away from himself.

     "It's complicated, I guess. He's not really one for lovin' the gays. So not only is he totally straight but he definitely would beat the living fuck out of me if I tried to come on to him." Ian finally looked away and Mickey missed the green eyes already. He felt guilt coursing through him yet again. What was it about Gallagher that always made him feel guilty for shit? He hated it. What he hated more was how bad he wanted to know who this fuckin' guy was. Did he know him? If he did he was definitely going to be making a stop on his way home tonight to give the guy some reasons to stay away from the ginger.

     "Who is he?" Mickey's heart was racing and his hands started to sweat. He hated this.

     "I cant fuckin' tell you," Ian laughed, "that's the point of a secret. 'That's the beauty of a secret, you know you're supposed to keep it,'" Ian sang and then laughed. That fucking laugh still ruined him. _The idiot_.

     "Yeah, okay, but what's a secret between friends?" Mickey tried. He didn't really want to know or linger on this conversation any longer but he couldn't help his curiosity. Ian looked back at him and smiled.

     "Oh we're friends now?"

     "Fuck off," Mickey exhaled and rolled his eyes.

     "I can't just tell you after Ive already told you one secret. It's still your turn remember? Then maybe I'll tell ya." Ian leaned forward to put his empty bottle on the table, and matched Mickey's sitting position to get a better look at him. His eyebrow was quirked and he looked like he was fucking loving this.

     "Okay but 'I like a guy' isn't a fucking secret when you're withholding the most vital piece of information, you're just trying to scam me out of my own secrets, you red fuck." Ian just laughed again.

     "Oh, come on. A small secret, it doesn't have to be crazy. But the better it is the more likely I am to give up the name." This whole teasing, cocky act Gallagher was putting on really did something to Mickey, mostly in his pants but who had to know. Now would be as good of a time as any to tell Ian, to tell himself. If he could just get the words out this might actually benefit him. Ian was probably the last person who was going to judge him for his gender preference, so who fucking cared? He took a deep breath and tried to find a way of telling him without telling him.

     "I'm- I just-, he sighed, "okay, so like, I can't say it because I just fucking can't and I haven't ever even said it to myself which is fucked. But, like, I know that I am because you just know, I mean, you know, I don't have to tell you what it's like. Ive just never said it or even thought it because, like look where we live, look at my fucking family, no way I'd come out of that alive. It's all just shitty and fucked up and I don't know." Mickey wasn't making any sense. Instead of getting his point across or just fucking telling Ian 'hey I don't like chicks either' he went on a fucking rant that was probably worthless to his new friend because he had no fucking clue what he was trying to say. Ian stared at him, confusion pulling his eyebrows together, but only for a moment before his face relaxed.

     "Wanna come upstairs?" He asked cooly. Mickey let out a breath he was apparently holding.

     "What?"

     "I didn't give you a proper tour. Come on." He stood up gestured for Mickey to follow. Mickey huffed but followed him up the living room stairs anyway. He kept waiting for the redhead to say something but he didn't, which made him mad. There he was, spilling his guts to Ian, well, more or less, and he was just going to blow it off like it was nothing? Not even ask questions or make a comment or even fucking acknowledge that he'd just said anything at all? They walked down the hallway passing all kinds of doors on the way, still in silence. _Some fucking tour_. They finally made their way to a door at the end of the hall and Ian opened it to let Mickey in. "Well this is my room," he said when they were both inside. He closed and locked the door and Mickey turned around at the sound of the click. What was happening?

     "Wha-" Mickey was interrupted when Ian was pushing him back until he finally hit the bed and fell onto it. "What the fuck, Gallagher!" Mickey was panicking. He was in Ian's bed, with said owner climbing all over his body, and he didn't know what to do. Was this another one of his fucked up dreams? He prayed to God it wasn't. His hands were shaky by his sides and he tried to sit up on his elbows, but Ian pushed him back down by the chest. The taller boy straddled the shorter one and began sucking on his neck. Mickey's whole body convulsed and lifted off the bed into the touch, seeking more. He's never felt anything like this before, nothing like Ian. He let a moan escape his lips and he was embarrassed for being so weak. It's not long before Ian pulls off his neck though, and Mickey all but straight whines at the missing contact.

     The redhead sits up and barely has his shirt half way up his torso when Mickey finds himself not in control of his actions, as he's pulling his own shirt over his head. They both stripped themselves of their clothes, helping each other out with their pants, and Ian's pushing Mickey onto his back on the bed yet again. He rests between the older boy's legs and before he can react he's gasping, head tilting back into the pillows. Ian is licking and breathing air onto his cock before finally sinking his head down and taking him into his mouth. Things were suddenly happening so fast it was hard to keep track. Ian wanted to waste no time apparently.

     "Fuck," Mickey breathes. He can't think, can't do much of anything really. He knows he can't look down; he knows that if he sees Ian sucking him off he'll be ruined for life. But, he's also scared. His dream's got him spooked and he wants to push Ian off before he turns into Terry. So he keeps his eyes closed tight, which doesn't exactly help, as his mind is trying to cut and paste every picture of Ian he's got in his brain to try and come up with what the ginger looks like right now; and its heaven and hell all wrapped in one pouty lipped, wide eyed, freckly boy. "Fucking fuck." Ian's tongue is running over the head of Mickey's dick and he almost loses it. He can't hold out anymore, he has to take a peek.

     Ian is still Ian, and in the moment, that's all that matters. Ian's cheekbones are lightly flushed, almost matching the color of his full, wet lips wrapped around Mickey. Everything about the image before for him is red and bright, like a fire; always like a fire with Ian Gallagher. Everything, but the darkened green eyes staring back at him. The moment their eyes meet, Ian is pulling away, a string of spit still connecting his mouth to Mickey until he's sat up fully, and it's all Mickey can do not to cum from the sight. He opens his mouth to say something but its left hanging open when Ian slides two fingers into his own mouth, still keeping eye contact. _Did this fucker ever blink_? Mickey watches on as the other man sucks on his fingers for a minute, his own mouth hanging open, drool most definitely running down both of their chins.

     "I'm really hoping you're a bottom, because if not you're definitely gonna kill me in a minute," Ian laughed, and it's light and breathy and just beautiful; Mickey thinks he would be okay with Ian's laugh being the only sound he hears for the rest of his life. He doesn't get a chance to make any snarky comment he wants to about Gallagher assuming he takes it in the ass because he is quite literally shoving his finger in Mickey. Mickey props himself up onto his elbows as he arches his back, moaning lightly but deeply all at once. Ian's gone back to blowing the brunette while he builds up a steady pace with his finger, and eventually slipping in a second one. He clenches his eyes and tries to just wide through the discomfort.

     Mickey can't keep track of what he's saying as he drops back down so he's flat on his back again. He just knows he's throwing out a lot of curses and can only hope he doesn't say anything too stupid. "Fuck," Ian says, popping off Mickey again. He leaned over the bed to search for his jeans, fingers never slowing. Mickey filled the room with hums and gentle moans as he watched Ian pull a condom out of his wallet, rip it open with his teeth, and roll it onto his own erection. Mickey had felt on the edge of spilling over ever since this fucking ginger was making eyes at him on the couch, and he really don't know how he was going to last. What's worse; this would the first time he was actually going to have sex with a man. There had been a few times in juvie where he'd fuck some guy, but it was mostly ever to just show his dominance, and he never counted it bc he knew he preferred being fucked.

     And, there was no on like Ian, no one was close to Ian. His thoughts may be shot but deep down, probably in that Gallagher-radiated corner of his brain, he knew that this was more than sex for him, and that it always would be. It was more than sex before today, it always would be. Mickey has to push the thoughts from his mind though, and focus on the Ian that's touching him and he can see, he doesn't want to miss a second. He brings his legs up so this feet are planted on the bed on either side of Ian, bumping them against his arms occasionally because he finds himself craving more of his skin. Ian smiles up to Mickey after spitting in his hand and stroking himself for added ease in his endeavor. He lifts Mickey's hips to make it easier for himself, and slowly pushes into the older man.

     Mickey lets out a ragged breath, mouth hanging open, and he throws his right arm over his eyes, trying to hide his face. It hurts and its a pain he's never felt before. Sure, he's done stuff on his own, secret stuff no one would ever know about, but this was so much different. It was Ian, for one, so that probably had something to do with it, but the fucker was definitely bigger than anything Mickey's got hidden away in his room. His eyes are stinging and his whole body is aching already. He tries to just stay as calm and still as he can to not give away his discomfort, lest Ian decide to stop what he's doing. Ian notices the slight grimace on what little of Mickey's face that he can see, and moves one hand from his hip to his dick, trying to help ease the pain.

     When he's bottomed out, he stays still, not wanting to rush things yet. Mickey moves his legs up so they're hooked over Ian's shoulders, and his breathing evens out (as much as it can when he's got nine inches of tall redhead firmly inside his ass). There really was nothing small about Ian Gallagher, in any sense of the word. "Are you okay?" Ian asks him gently. Mickey tries to find words, he really does, but he just can't get anything out. Instead, he tosses a thumbs up in the air with his left hand, and moans thickly when Ian chuckles and starts pulling out slowly, only to push back in when he's almost fully out.

     "So good Mick, you feel so fucking good," Ian breathes, and every word of praise goes right to Mickey's throbbing dick. The sensation of Ian Gallagher moving in and out of Mickey is something he never wants to forget. Slowly but surly the pain becomes almost nonexistent now and is replaced pure pleasure. Ian's moving faster, rougher, angling himself anyway he can until he finally hits Mickey's prostate. It sends the brunette flying. "So fucking hot. Fuck. You're so good." He arches his back and all but screams as Ian continues to prod the sensitive spot.

     Mickey lifts off the bed and props himself up on his elbows again and his head falls back in between his shoulders. Ian is grunting and cussing above him and every moan he lets out just makes Mickey clench around him, pulling even breathier moans out of the man. Mickey lowers himself back onto the bed to give his arms a break, and Ian follows suit; leaning forward and hovering of Mickey, Ian's got him pretty much bent in half. Ian is inches away and Mickey wants nothing more than to kiss him but doesn't let it happen. He knows if he kisses Ian Gallagher, he'll have crossed the invisible line he's made for himself, and he'll never be able to get out of the grasp of those big hands.

     Ian doesn't seem so keen on kissing either, as he drops his head down in the crook of Mickey's neck, breathing in his scent. He's practically drooling all over Mickey's shoulder as his mouth is hanging open and his beautiful words of praise and encouragement do not falter. Mickey's head his bobbing on the pillows as Ian magically increases the speed of his thrusts, and simultaneously, the speed of his hand that's still around Mickey's cock. "I'm- I think I-" Mickey finally finds words, only for them to get completely lost on their way out of his mouth.

     He's clenching harder around Ian and even moving his hands all over his body, digging his nails so deep into Ian's back he sure he's making him bleed; and he almost hopes he is. If Ian Gallagher's blood is ever to be spilled, Mickey hopes it's only like this; at Mickey's hand (or mouth, he wasn't picky) in a moment of intense passion. To mark him and remind him of how he feels, how much he cares. Like every bruise or cut or drop of blood that Mickey can pull from Ian will replace all the bad bruises and cuts he'd had, that they get across the messages he wants to tell Ian but just cant. These bruises came from a different place than the one he left on Ian's jaw and he hoped he knew that. He never wanted to leave a mark on Ian the way he had the day before, never wanted to hurt him in anyway again.

     "It's okay. It's okay, Mick. Me too," Ian whispers into Mickey's ear, and the tenderness of his voice mixed with the goosebumps forming from his breath floating on his skin is all it takes for Mickey. He bites into Ian's left shoulder to muffle his screaming, and he really is screaming now, and notices Ian's doing the same, biting into Mickey's own left shoulder to let out his shouts. Mickey finds himself hugging Ian as he cums, spilling all up his torso. He doesn't even feel the warmness of his jizz, it just feels cold compared to how hot his whole body is. The two are breathing so loudly and rough that Mickey can't even tell the huffs apart. He lets out one last strained moan as he feels Ian finally pulling out of him. He watches as he sits back on his legs and slips off the condom, ties it in a knot, and tosses it onto his jeans on the floor. Still sweaty and flushed, the hair towards the front of his hair sticking out all over the place, Ian leans down and begins licking up Mickey's cum from his stomach in long strides. Never breaking eye contact. Mickey finds himself envying women and their multiple orgasms; he would _gladly_  go for round two already at the sight before him.

     His breathing has finally slowed down and he's still just staring at the ginger as he moves to lay next to him on his back. They're so close on Ian's tiny bed that their sides are pressed against each other. They have not broken physical contact since Ian pushed him onto the bed, however long ago that had been. Normally he'd feel the need to push away anyone who dared get so close to him, literally and metaphorically, but he found himself almost panicking at the thought of Ian's body leaving his own. "Well," Ian starts, still sounding out of breath, "was it good for you?" Mickey turns his head to the left and is met with twinkling green eyes and a matching grin already staring back. He pokes his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and takes a deep breath. He'd spent so much fucking time try to hate this man and stay away from him, but how was he supposed to when he looked like that?

     "Fuck off," he gives in and laughs lightly. He turns to reach for his clothes on the ground, searching for his pants and finally pulling out his cigarettes and lighter. He pulls one out and lights it, taking a few deep drags before sitting up against the wall. He shimmies and pulls the blanket up to cover their waists, and places his cigarette between Ian's parted lips. The two men just continue to stare at each other while they pass the diminishing cigarette back and forth. Ian has to tilt his head back and Mickey has to look down, but he likes it that way, at least for right now. He's always having to look up to Ian so it was nice to have the roles reversed. Ian's hand had slipped onto Mickey's thigh somewhere along the way. He just kept alternating between rubbing with his whole hand and tracing with just his finger tips. Every once in a while he'd grip his thigh a little, and did it a little more often when he noticed that Mickey's breath hitched and his tongue darted out to wet his lips every time. He shouldn't have that effect on Mickey. No one should.

     He doesn't know how long he's been here now or how long till another Gallagher comes home. If he stays any longer someone's bond to show up; or he'll just get too attached to Ian and never leave. "I gotta go," Mickey says so quietly, its almost a whisper. He meant for it to come out harsh, like he regretted what happened or that he was really angry, but it didn't. It may have even just sounded more like a question than a request or demand. He still finds the need to try to keep up his tough guy act, looking like a complete douche, but it was hard when he was getting used to the idea of being a bit more gentle, even nicer when Ian was right there in front of him.

     "Just a booty call, huh?" Mickey's stomach tightened. He didn't want this to be that, 'just a booty call'. He didn't want Ian to think of him that way. But, Ian was smiling that dumb smile up at him as he scooted up, leveling himself with Mickey. "Could ya at least tell me next time? I wont spend so much time sucking your dick if all you want is a quick fuck." _Next time_?

     "Come on, man. That's not what that was..." Mickey trails off, looking away from Ian and instead finding his hands very interesting.

     "No, 'course it wasn't," Ian spoke softly as he rest his hand in Mickey's shoulder and leaned closer. His thumb was rubbing over the spot he has sunk his teeth into, and man if that wasn't gonna bruise like a bitch. "Sorry for that," he whispers again, placing an opened-mouth kiss onto the dark teeth marks. Mickey tilts his head to the right a bit, an invitation for Ian to do as he pleases on his neck. He feels so different around Ian. So open and vulnerable. This wasn't him, it never was and it never should be, but here he was. He's fucked. "Sure is pretty though."

     "Yeah, and I'm sure it'll really be pretty when people start asking shit about it," Mickey grumbled. Ian pulled off Mickey's neck before he got a chance to add another mark to the milky skin. The brunette's head snapped to the left and watched as Ian slid down the bed and stood up, walking around to Mickey's side, and pulled on his boxers. "Wh-where are you going?" He hated how desperate he sounded. This douchebag act really wasn't working.

     "You said you gotta go, right? You got other stuff you gotta do or whatever? Probably don't wanna hang out with me while I'm suckin' on your neck all night."

     "Well, there's other things you could suck, ya know." Mickey raises his eyebrows which just made Ian snort.

     "Yeah, okay, big guy. We'll see about that." Ian smiled down at Mickey. He was leaning forward like he was going to kiss Mickey, and his heart stopped. He knew he told himself no kissing, but maybe he could let it slide if Ian was the one initiating it. At the very last second, however, Ian turns to hover over Mickey's crotch, and lifts the blanket up. "See ya later, new buddy. Stay pretty for me," Ian spoke directly to Mickey's dick and gave its head a light kiss, exaggerating the smacking sound. Ian dropped the blanket and beamed at Mickey as he stood to his full height. "I'm gonna shower, you can let yourself out whenever. Bye, Mick," he spoke cheerfully. He turned around and practically bounced out of the room, leaving his door open as he turned to the right and closed the bathroom door after he entered.

     He'd never imagined sex could be that good. His toes had literally curled when he came, and he doesn't think anyone else in the world could pull such a reaction out of him. No one but Ian Fucking Gallagher. Mickey just wants to keep thinking about and reliving the events that just took place. He waits until he hears the shower running before he grabs his clothes to put on. He's looking around the room to make sure he's got all his stuff when something poking out under the dresser catches his eye.

     Mickey bends down to pick it up, pulling a few more things out with it. They're photos, all of Ian with family or friends, a few of him alone. He's smiling in all of them and just looks so free and happy. One catches his eye more than the rest; a selfie Ian must've taken or just a photo someone else took of him, it was hard to tell with it being so close. Ian wore a grey beanie and his trademarked shit eating-grin. The middle finger he was holding up really tied the whole thing together. He slid the other pictures back under the dresser where he found them, and carefully folded and pocketed the beanie photo. It was left under furniture, how much would Ian really miss, if he even notices it's gone? Mickey carefully sneaks out of the house through the back door and heads home. The sun had already set for the most part, but it was still pretty warm out. He took the long way back to his house and didn't bother walking too fast, taking his time so he could think.

     Mickey had wanted to ask Ian about his guys name again at some point during his come down, but it totally slipped his mind. He had so many thoughts whizzing around his brain he couldn't have kept track. Clearly he has gotten his own point across, somewhere in between fumbling for words on the couch and cumming all over himself with Ian's dick in his ass. But, what about Ian's little secret? Who was his guy and why did he just fuck Mickey if one, he's fucking Kash, and two, he was crushing on another guy. How many fucking guys was Ian involved with around town? What if Mickey was the other guy? This thought had Mickey stop walking for a second while he thought in the middle of the side walk.

     Ian was telling him all about some guy he's known since he was a kid and then took him upstairs to fuck him in his bed. Was it just the heat of the moment or was he trying to tell Mickey something? If Mickey wasn't 'the guy' this was so fucked up of Ian. Leading him on, the mystery guy, _and_  Kash. Not to mention anyone else. Mickey continued walking and found himself getting more confused and stressed. He sighed to himself as he approached the gate of his house. He finally got a taste of Ian Gallagher and he really didn't want to lose that. He wouldn't normally care about fucking around, he certainly did. He didn't care about who else his fuck buddies slept with, because they were usually one night stands with women in bars. But Ian was different. He didn't want Ian sleeping around because he didn't want to share him. Even if they didn't continue this, he didn't want Ian sleeping around because he just didn't want him to.

     What was he supposed to feel and do in this situation? Was it going to just be a one time thing? Mickey already knew he wasn't going to be able to think about anything else for a long time now.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six** _

 

  
     Mickey wonders what it's like to have friends, real friends. Someone who really does care about you, someone you can tell your secrets to and can help work out what to do in sticky situations. Was that what it was like for Ian and Mandy? Did they tell each other everything? Had Ian already spilled the beans to her about some new guy he fucked, hopefully keeping Mickey's identity under wraps at least. Or the other guy he's got the fucking crush on? Mickey's just been sitting on this whole situation for years, and now he's landed himself in the position where he's finally had sex with Ian Gallagher, and who was he suppose to tell? They had their moment on the ragged couch where they really felt like friends, they were literally sharing secrets. Is th at what it felt like? Just less awkward and not as much sexual tension?

     Things were looking bleak until Friday night when Mickey heard his sister on the phone with Ian. He only caught her end of the conversation, but it was enough. Apparently Ian was coming over tomorrow to hang out for the day. Mickey was going to do whatever he could to see Ian, and he wasn't going to let his sister or brothers fuck with it anything. Iggy and Colin had been put in charge of all of Terry's runs while he was still locked up, so they were gone till Tuesday.

     So when it was Saturday afternoon, and Mandy had left about two hours ago to do God knows what, and Mickey was left in the house alone, he took his now typical perch on the couch, mindlessly watching whatever show was on the tv, and waited for her and Ian to show up. He was going to talk to Ian, nothing too specific, but just talk. Whatever he's able to get away with while Mandy was in the room.

     When the front door finally opens, he wasn't expecting just Ian to walk through but his heart rate definitely increased. He closed the door and came to sit on the couch, smiling at Mickey, who sat up a little straighter. "Hey Mick," he said as he stretched his legs out a bit.

     "Where the fuck is Mandy?" Mickey was really confused on why Ian was here but his sister wasn't, especially when he heard her tell Gallagher they were gonna hang out today.

     "She'll be here later. She told me to just wait in her room or whatever."

     "So why the hell are you out here?" Neither of them have looked away from each other since Ian walked through the front door and it was driving Mickey crazy. He wanted to look away but he just couldn't. Ian shrugged, still smiling. He could never wipe that fucking smile off his damn face.

     "I'd rather hang out with you than in her room by myself, I guess." Mickey just nodded. He tried to not let his stomach flutter at the thought of Ian wanting to hang out with him but it was a lost cause. He figured now would be as good a time as any, since they're all buddy-buddy apparently, to ask him some of the stuff that's been on his mind the past week or so.

     "So," Mickey coughed, "the other day, you said if I told you a secret, you'd tell me who your guy was. And I mean I think I gave you a pretty big fucking secret so time to pay up, Gallagher." Ian's fucking smiled got even bigger. This asshole could use more tragedy in his life if he's this smiley all the damn time.

     "Yeah? You wanna know?" Mickey rolled his eyes.

     "I just fucking said that, didn't I? You never fucking listen, do you?" Mickey grumbled. Ian scooted a little closer to Mickey so that he was in the middle of the couch now. Mickey's heart was in his throat.

     "You gonna hit me again?" Ian almost whispered. He didn't seem mad or hateful or even like he was trying to be mean. His eyes seemed almost playful, but still dark. Mickey's eyes widen a bit.

     "N-no, I told you I didn't mean to do that shit. I-I did it because I was scared." Mickey has never admitted to anyone that he's ever been scared. Maybe to Mandy or Iggy once when he was younger, but he was rarely ever scared, anyway. To tell Ian that he was scared was almost more terrifying than when he had been alone in his room with him. Any sign of teasing left Ian's face, and he just looked concerned.

     "You're scared of me?"

     "No, no. It wasn't you I was scared of- well maybe, I don't know. But not like that," he sighed. He might as well clear all the air now. "I was scared because we were alone in my room, ya know, and you were just there, you were so close. I wanted you to be there, I didn't actually want you to go but, like, I was scared of admitting it and scared of you knowing. It's just hard, you know? Because it's not like I can just fucking say shit like that. And I just didn't fucking know what to do and i just wanted you to leave before I did something stupid. But I still fucking did something stupid because I hit you and I never fucking want to do something like that to you and-and...." he trails off and looks down at his hands. He really needed to learn how to keep his word vomit under control because he hated ranting and rambling to Ian.

     "You were scared to tell me you're gay?" Ian asked. Mickey's head snapped up and he glared at Ian.

     "I'm not a fucking fag," he bit sharply. Ian just kept staring though.

     "You sure? I literally fucked you last week, that's pretty gay."

     "You really wanna get fucking hit again?" Mickey raised his eyebrows as high as they would go. Why the fuck was Ian doing this right now. They fucked, wasn't that enough proof? Did he really have to say it?

     "Why did you beat the shit out of Kash?" Ian purses his lips. Mickey was grateful to take the attention off his sexuality for a minute, but wished the question was something easier to answer. He sighed and softened his face about, his eyes dropping back down to his hands in his lap.

     "Because- because you were fucking him," his voice was barely audible.

     "Why? Cause we're a couple a fags?" Ian was starting to sound annoyed. That only made Mickey's temper flare. Was he still fucking on the whole gay thing?

     "No! Jesus fucking Christ! Because I don't want you fucking him!" Mickey was standing now, and screaming at the top of his lungs. Apparently they were fighting now because Ian stood up, too, and was matching his screams.

     "That's not your fucking decision, Mickey! I'm sorry I'm gay but get the fuck over it!"

     "Christ, you fucking idiot," Mickey said under his breath. This was all his fault. If he could just fucking tell Ian, everything would be okay. Both of their chest were raising and falling rapidly and they just stared at each other. Part of Mickey really wanted to hit Ian again, just to get him to leave him alone. He stretched his itching fingers. A bigger part of him wanted Ian to fuck him again, but he wasn't sure if he could trust that part of him.

     "What the fuck is wrong with you, Mickey?" Ian's voice was still loud but not booming anymore. Mickey looked around the the room to avoid his stare. "You're gonna beat the shit outta me and Kash but also let me fuck you? What the fuck is that?" Mickey raised his eyebrow and looked back at him.

     "Let you fuck me, huh? Man, had I known people were out there linin' up for me I wouldn't have even looked at ya," he laughed darkly. He knows that that's not true but he can't let Ian know. This was all so confusing. Did he want Ian to know everything or didn't he? The only thing he's sure of right now is that he doesn't want to say these things to Ian.

     "Fuck you, Mickey," Ian bit back, shaking his head. "You don't even know who you are or what you want."

     "It's not that fuckin' easy, man! We can't all just let lose our every thought and fucking feeling we've got! We're not- we're-"

     "You're just scared, stop being fucking scared of everything." Mickey shook his head.

     "I'm not scared, fuck you," he exhaled and turned to walk away. He only made it two steps when Ian was pulling him back by the arm. "What the fu-"

     "You're scared of your dad and your brothers and me and yourself and sure it's understandable but at some point you have to grow the fuck up and get over yourself. You think everything's gonna be fine because you push yourself and others down and away but you can't fucking do that." Mickey yanked his arm back and stared at Ian with knitted brows. "You can beat the shit out of someone for being gay, have me fuck you, and go back to the great faggot-hater this side of Chicago just because you're too scared to say you're-"

     "Watch yourself," Mickey warned. Ian took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

     "You're just confusing as fuck and I- fuck Mickey." Ian sighed and sat back down on the couch. Mickey just stood in the same spot, not knowing what to do. Was he supposed to leave? Sit down and comfort him? Maybe the best thing would be to tell him now, finally. Tell him how he feels and what he wants from him. Yeah, that would be best. He took a deep breath and walked closer to where Ian was sitting with his face in his hands.

     "Look, Gallagher, I don't know what you think all this is but-"

     "No it's cool, I, uh, I should go. I-I won't come by anymore, make it easier for everyone," he sighed again as he stood up. He didn't look at Mickey as he headed for the door, and Mickey felt himself panic. Wouldn't it be so much easier to just let him go and never come back? Yes, it would, so then why was he stopping him?

     "No, wait, okay, yeah," he sighed and Ian turned around confused.

     "Was that even a sentence?" Mickey closed his eyes and walked up to Ian.

     "Just-fuck. Just come on," he tugged on the hem of Ian's shirt and nodded towards the couch. He wasn't good with words but maybe this would be enough.

  
⁂

  
     "You gotta go wait for Mandy?" Mickey snorts and turns his head to look at Ian. He just smiles at Mickey and shakes his head. After they had fucked on the couch and cleaned up their evidence, they had ended up in Mickey's room where they wrestled for a moment before it just turned into them fooling around. Eventually they settled for just hanging out half naked in the bed to calm down. They were both sitting up in Mickey's bed, leaning against his headboard. Their breathing was normal again and they were fully down from their highs.

     "Nah she's at my house screwing my brother." Mickey raised his eyebrows which just made Ian laugh. "She doesn't know I know, been trying to keep it a secret I guess, but I figure I can't get too mad since I'm doing the same thing with you now." Ian's hand lifts and lay out on Mickey's thigh, rubbing it gently, just like he'd done before; it was quickly becoming one of Mickey's favorite things and he relaxed and melted under the touch.

     "Wait, you knew when you came over that she wasn't gonna be here or come back?"

     "I told you, I wanted to hang out with you." This was a lot to take in. Mickey was Ian's secret and he came over just to see him?

     "She doesn't know? You didn't tell her?" Mickey asks, eyebrows still perched at their highest point.

     "Fuck no, it's none of her business for one thing, and I figured you didn't want me running around telling people I give it to ya real good." Ian flashed him his most mischievous grin he could conjure up, and sucking on his own lip is all Mickey can do to not jump onto the taller man and bite at him till he's a moaning mess under him.

     "Okay fuck off," he huffs, "I just figured you'd be telling your girlfriend about the newest piece of ass you've scored yourself." Mickey looks down to Ian's hand and pulls it a little more into his lap so he can play with his fingers. He was nervous to be so delicate and intimate but whenever he was nervous he found himself thinking about Ian, or touching him apparently, to calm himself down. And, it worked. Mickey was thinking maybe he really was nothing but a couple good fucks if he wasn't even bothering to tell Mandy. He knew he shouldn't be so worked up about it or care at all but he's been holding out hope that Ian would give a shit about him since they first met, like hell he was gonna stop now.

     "Well I did but I left your name out. I feel bad not telling her things. I think sometimes she still thinks there's a chance of us being something. She gets all huffy when I tell her I've other plans, I bet she'd kill me if she knew I was with you. She still doesn't know it's you though. She just thinks you're some older guy I found at one of the clubs," Ian spoke lightly, staring down at his and Mickey's hands.

     "More old guys? And from clubs, huh?" Mickey furrowed his brows and his stomach drops; he's sure Ian feels his grip on his hand tighten. "Not really your type, am I?" He spoke so quietly he wanted to kick himself. Ian sat up a little more and turned so his front was pressed against Mickey. "How many old fucks you keepin' around?"

     "Hey," he breathed out, using his left hand to pull Mickey's face towards him by the chin. "I had, I don't know, a phase where I slept around with older guys I met because that's just who was always interested. Not a lot of guys around Southside looking for dudes to hookup with, especially not my age," he laughed and found himself rubbing his thumb over Mickey's cheek, he looked like he was hanging on to his every word. "Besides, I think you'd be surprised what my type was."

     "Probably just a buncha assholes anyway." Ian purses his lips a bit.

     "Well yeah, and the guys are kinda jerks, too," he smiled and continued to stare at Mickey like always. Mickey huffed and shook his head.

     "I fucking walked right into that one," he grumbled.

     "Funny, that's what I said to one of the guys!" Ian laughed Mickey started pinching his side. "Hey, uh, can I come over next week?" Ian asked when the pinching stopped and he caught his breath.

     "What the fuck for?" Something seemed suspicious.

     "To hang out? Like Tuesday, I'm free Tuesday. We don't have to fuck, we don't even have step foot in here, no groping or sucking or fucking, just chill."

     "You think so? Can you actually keep it in your pants long enough?" Mickey laughs when Ian pulls away to straddle him, moving his hips ever so slightly in a circle, just enough to catch Mickey's attention.

     "I can try, but I guess we'll just have to go again now to get it out of my system." He dips his head down to lightly suck on Mickey's neck, pulling out breathy curses from him. Apparently this is what they do now. They fuck. And, it may not have been what he wanted, but he'd take it. 


	7. Chapter 7

_** Chapter Seven ** _

 

 

 

 

 

That next Tuesday Mickey was sitting on the couch sipping on a beer and trying to keep his nerves in check. He'd seen Ian at his house hundreds of times, and has been there with him a handful of those times. But, having the pressure of knowing Ian was coming over solely for him was terrifying. He'd spent the whole day try to stay calm and even. His attention was pulled to the front door when Ian had let himself into the Milkovich house, because apparently he thinks he can just come and go as he fucking pleases. Mandy stepped out of her room to leave at the same time and almost collided with him.

 

"Hey, I thought I told you, I cant hang out today, I've got work." She was pulling on her sweater and giving Ian a confused look. He just shook his head and shoved his hands into his packets.

 

"No, yeah I know, I just came by to hang out with Mickey for a bit," he glanced over at Mickey on the couch who had his head turned back to watch the exchange. Mandy was glaring at Mickey now. The tension was raising and it was putting a damper on what was supposed to be a good day for him.

 

"What the fuck are you lookin' at?" He shot at his sister.

 

"What, you guys fucking pals now?" She snipped. Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

"Fuck off, Mandy, you can't monopolize people and not let them see other people. He's a big boy he can do what the fuck he wants."

 

"Oh, so you beat the shit out of my friends and then take them from me? Fuck you both." Mickey instantly drained ghostly white. He wished people would stop bringing that up. He still felt so fucking terrible for hitting Ian, and even though the bruise was long faded, his eyes still flashed to his jaw once in a while. She shoulder checked Ian as she passed him to the door and slammed it in her way out. Ian and Mickey looked at each other, both with raised eyebrows.

 

"Whatta peach," Ian laughed. He strode over to the couch and looked down at Mickey without actually looking at his face. "Hey there, big guy," he said before lifting his eyes to meet Mickey's, "oh, you too, Mick." He flashed his damn grin before plopping down on Mickey's right. Mickey rolled his eyes and huffed. He covered his hands over his jeaned dick.

 

"Would you stop fucking talking to my dick all the god damned time, I swear you talk to him more than me," he grumbled.

 

"Awe, come on, he likes it," Ian leaned over and stuck his face right into Mickey's crotch, pushing his hands out of the way, "dontcha boy? Someone's gotta give him the attention he deserves," his voice was slightly muffled by the jeans. He kept nuzzling his face into him like a cat. "He needs a name though. I'll work on that."

 

"Yeah, okay, fuckhead, that's enough," Mickey tugged on Ian's hair to pull him out of his lap. The gangly idiot just moaned and gave him a lopsided smile.

 

"Mmm, I love it when you talk dirty to me," he hummed. Mickey can't help that he's licking the corner of his mouth. This fucker just never stopped, did he?

 

"We need to get you a damn hobby, all you ever think about is sex." He let go of the copper hair, and let his palm lightly brush down Ian's left cheek as he dropped it onto the cushion.

 

"Not true," Ian says as he leans back into the corner of the couch and twisting so he's almost looking at Mickey head on, "I've got much more goin' on up here than just sex," he says as he taps his forehead with his finger and smiles at the brunette. "Though", he slid back to the center seat and dipped his head into Mickey's neck, "there's other things I could better my time with," he whispered over the skin. He licked a long stripe from front of Mickey's neck to his ear, and then ghost his lips along his jaw.

 

"Yeah, okay," Mickey breathed as he tried to keep his voice even, but ultimately failing. "I thought you said we weren't gonna do anything today?" Mickey gasped as teeth nibbled all over the side of his neck.

 

"I said no groping, sucking, or fucking. There's plenty more we can do." Mickey was having trouble catching his breath and it only got harder for him when Ian pulled back. He was looking down at Mickey's lips. He knew what Ian wanted, and he really did want to give it to him. He'd spent more nights than he could count over the years thinking and dreaming about kissing Ian. What it would feel like, what he'd taste like. But, he just couldn't. He pulled back, slowly, not wanting to scare Ian away.

 

"I'm sorry, I-"

 

"Hey, its cool." Ian gave Mickey a small smile before sliding back to the other side of the couch. God, he fucked up. He should've just kissed him. But, Ian didn't look the way Mickey felt. He didn't look hurt or rejected. He just continued to smile. "What do you wanna do?"  _Kiss you_ ,  he thought to himself, _kiss you and never stop._

 

" I- I wanna-" he was cut off by the front door swinging open. Never any peace and quiet in this damn house. Iggy came over to the couch and sat down in the space between the two boys.  _Oh great_ .  He was back. They'd never get rid of Iggy, fucker couldn't take a hint if it hit him in the face.

 

"What're we watchin?" Iggy asked around a cigarette.Mickey leaned forward to grab the remote and handed it to his brother. He figured he'd have to just deal with it and hope Iggy got bored and just left.

 

"Whatever you find, there ain't shit on right now," Mickey said, reaching for his own pack of cigarettes. He noticed Ian starting to stand up out of the corner of his eye, and immediately looked at him. He only panicked slightly. Okay, maybe more than slightly.

 

"I'll get out of your guys' way," Ian coughed, but he didn't even make it to a full standing position before Mickey was calling him back down to the couch.

 

"Sit the fuck down, man. You can stay a while longer, can't ya?" Ian started at Mickey and just nodded, sitting back down. "Alright then", he breathed out with a cloud of smoke. Iggy turned to Mickey with his mouth open like he was going to say something, but his eyes caught his neck before any words came out.

 

"What the hell happened to your neck, man?" Mickey eyes widen and he froze.  _Fuck_ .  He knew his neck, and shoulders, were covered with hickies and bite marks from the last week or so. He looked at Ian who had the same wide eyes and was staring at Mickey's neck, biting his lip.

 

"Oh, I, uhm, I got in a fight with some fuck last week. Something stupid, don't even remember." Mickey would've prayed that the lie would work but he knew his brother well enough.

 

"Fucked you up, dude," Iggy said turned back to the tv. And, that was it. For the next hour or so, Ian and Mickey kept staring and smiling at each other behind Iggy's head, and when Mickey's cigarettes he kept smoking were half gone, he reached behind his brothers head to pass them to Ian.

 

Mickey's eyes did not leave the ginger every time he smoked down the rest of a cigarette. He watched his pink lips part, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes flutter closed on every other exhale. It was a beautiful image. The faint sight of freckles, the red hair, Ian's whole being with plumes of smoke swirling around him. Mickey wishes he could paint because he would love to spend the rest of his life recreating the sight before him, spending years mixing paints to get just the right shades of green and red, and memorizing every freckle on Ian's body to portray the man as accurately as he can onto a canvas.

 

At a certain point, when Mickey didn't want keep reaching for another cigarette as an excuse to touch Ian, they just played with each other's fingers. Mickey knew he loved Ian's hands, and it seemed like the feeling was very mutual. Ian would rub and trace Mickey's 'fuck' tattoo as often as he could, which was weird since he wasn't even looking most of the time. Having Iggy around made things slightly awkward, not that he even noticed. He missed every single look and touch the other boys were secretly sharing behind him. It was mostly pleasant, that is until Iggy had to open his dumb mouth.

 

"So you're fucking our sister, right?" He turned to look at Ian. Mickey snapped his head away from the tv and pulled his hand into his lap to stare at Ian. He couldn't see the look on his brothers face but if he had to guess it was probably just a blank stare. What Iggy lacked in brain cells he made up for in drugs coursing through his system. Ian coughed and sat up a little straighter while Mickey just stared at him.

 

"More or less I guess, yeah," he finally choked. Mickey could tell Ian was doing everything in his power not to look back at him. He bit his lip and waited for Iggy to respond.

 

"Do you guys fuck on the couch?" Mickey's eyes widen. What if they did? Maybe they had. He still had no clue how far their relationship ever went. Maybe they had fucked before Ian really came clean or realized he's gay. Who the fuck knows. He definitely didn't want to know.

 

"No, me and Mandy do not fuck on the couch," he spoke as evenly as he could manage. With that, Ian did look at Mickey, very quickly, it was almost unnoticeable. And, it was to Iggy who just said 'cool' and went back to watching some movie about cars he put on. Anyone else would've picked up on the tone and the exchange and probably ask who Ian  _had_ been fucking on the couch, but thank God for Iggy Milkovich.

 

Mickey's mind flashed to when they had fucked on the couch, just days ago. Ian had stood in front of it, behind Mickey who was on his knees, leaning over the back. He remembered how at the height of Ian's thrusting, the couch had begun shifting back toward the wall and how they were both laughing and screaming when they came. Then he remembers the half hour after the sex where they were trying to clean up Mickey's cum he had shot all over the area Iggy was currently sat. Ian must've been thinking the exact same thing because Mickey notices the ginger is looking down at the center cushion, too. Mickey feels himself hardening at the recollections, and stands up, facing away from the men on the couch as to hide his erection.

 

"I'm gonna nap I'm fucking tired," he called behind himself as he walked to his room. He needed a breather. He also really to jerk off, so he'd see where the night took him. Before he closed his door fully, he heard Gallagher telling Iggy that he was gonna head out, but needed to use the bathroom first. Mickey just stood in the middle of his room and rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms when Ian shut and locked his door. "You keep telling my family you gotta piss when you're here and they're gonna think you have some kind of bladder problem," he said, eyeing the taller boy as he strode up to him.

 

"Hey, if they believe that, it'll give us more time in here." Ian smiles and dips his head into the crook of Mickey's neck and starts biting and sucking at the skin. "I come all the way over down to your damn house to see you, and you leave me out there with your fucking brother? Really, Mick?" He bit down harder and longer.

 

"You said we weren't gonna come in here- fuck!" Mickey gasps as Ian bites down so hard into part of his shoulder that's peeking out of his shirt that he thinks he's probably bleeding. "And you definitely said no sucking," he added when Gallagher started licking and sucking on the newly tender spot.

 

"Well, we won't be cumming in here, so you don't have to worry about that," Ian breathes out, warm air hitting Mickey's skin and giving him chills, "and the sucking, well, some rules gotta break, right?" Mickey can only hum back to him. His hands are all over the ginger; gripping his hips, running up and down his sides. He finally settles on keeping his left hand firmly on Ian's hip while the other held a tight grasp in his hair. The tugging and pulling was causing moans to slip out of Ian's mouth, so he had to busy his mouth even more; he starts laying opened-mouth kisses up Mickey's neck and along his jaw. He knows what's coming, his whole body is tingling and he feels like jelly in Ian's arms. Mickey had literally told him just an  _hour_ ago that he wasn't ready to kiss him, well kinda.  _Fuck it_ .  He couldn't not kiss Ian any longer.

 

He made a snap decision to just roll with it; take everything Ian gives him and return it as best as he could. Ian's lips are hovering over Mickey's now, both looking at each other through hooded eyes. Mickey can almost taste Ian's breath, the scent soaking into him. He starts to lean forward, wanting to just take what he needs, but only makes it a millimeter before someone's pounding on the door. "Mick tell your boyfriend to hurry the fuck up I gotta piss," Iggy yells through the wood. Mickey had jumped so far away from Ian that he had toppled a bit and ended up having to sit on the edge of his bed and catch his breath.

 

Ian is fixing his hair as best he can and and trying to catch his breath. He and Mickey held eye contact as he walked backwards to the door. They were both flushed, both licking their lips, both a mess. Ian's eyes finally leave Mickey's when he turns around, pulling the door open. "Sorry, I nudged the lock when I was closing the door, its all yours." Ian brushes past Iggy without even looking back at Mickey.

 

"Fuckers got a bladder infection or something? He's in here every twenty minutes," the brother asks as he strolls to the bathroom, stopping to eye Mickey for a second. He leaves the door open to hear what Mickey's saying. Mickey stares out his door hoping to catch a glimpse of Ian, but comes up empty handed.

 

"How the fuck should I know? Ask his girlfriend," Mickey snapped. He laid down onto his bed, atop his blanket. He kept his eyes closed in hopes his brother would take the hint and just leave when he was done in the bathroom; and luckily, he did. Mickey rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.  _Fuck_ .  He didn't know what he was more concerned about; almost getting caught, Iggy using 'boyfriend' like he knew  something  was going on, or that 'boyfriend' had got him thinking about whole new possibilities.

 

It had never crossed Mickey's mind that being Ian Gallagher's boyfriend was even an option. He just wanted to be with him, near him, he hadn't even thought of putting a word to that. Mickey thought about what it would be like to date Ian. Would they go on dates? Buy each other gifts for special occasions? Or would it just not be that different than it is now? Has Ian ever had a boyfriend before? That thought gets him jealous and angry. He hated thinking of Ian fucking other guys, but thinking of his crush being romantic and maybe in love with another man who wasn't him got his blood boiling and his skin crawling.

 

      _Love?_ Woah, no. That wasn't a thing that was happening. That had to stop right the fuck now. This was a new low for him. "Fuck," he sighed into the warm, late afternoon light that seeped through the bed sheet curtains hung over the window. He dropped his hands to his sides, but not for long; eventually they found themselves rubbing over the spots on his neck that Ian had kissed, before settling to rub his thumb over his bottom lip. He was going to kiss Ian, one way or another; Mickey Milkovich would kiss Ian Gallagher (and if he was lucky, he'd never stop).


	8. Chapter 8

_** Chapter Eight ** _

 

 

 

 

Mickey wasn't exactly sure how he was feeling about this whole 'fuck buddies' thing, and it was really getting to him. He was grateful to get any and every bit of Ian Gallagher he could, but he didn't like the circumstances. They hadn't talked about seeing other people, or anything regarding their 'relationship' really, and Mickey was positive Ian was still sleeping around. He also didn't like that this seemed to be just about sex. He understood that if they were going to do anything, it was probably best to limit it to just sex, but it still just wasn't what he wanted. He still didn't think he'd be able to tell Ian about how he was feeling, especially not when it seemed all he wanted  _was_ sex, but this was eating him up inside. He knew from the beginning that this couldn't just be about sex for him, so how did he get here?

 

The problem was every time they fucked, Mickey got more attached. He never wanted to part ways when they were finished, just wanted to stay and talk, he just couldn't get enough. He noticed that sometimes Ian would linger a little longer when they were at Mickey's house, or take longer to suggest Mickey go home when they were at his. When he lagged and dawdled, Mickey always felt like maybe there really was something else there could be, that maybe Ian wanted to stay their with him just as much. Maybe there was a way to work things out without making a huge deal of it. He decided to give in one night in early August, and just try to talk, see what would happen, maybe if he got a ball rolling, he could get a better idea.

 

"You ever been to a beach?" He asked, still breathless. Okay maybe not quite the topic he should've or wanted to picked, but it got them talking at least. They were in Mickey's bed way past sunset. The Chicago summer was almost unbearable so they'd been sticking to mostly late night meet ups; it was also easier to sneak in and out of each other's house. Ian sat up and was lighting a joint.

 

"The beach? Oh yeah, all the time, the Great Chicago Beach is my favorite place to hang out." His sarcastic tone and light laugh soaked through Mickey's skin and warmed his bones. He instantly felted melted and relaxed at the sound. Ian took a drag from the joint and passed it to Mickey, who was already sitting.

 

"Okay, fuck you," he spoke through the smoke in his lungs, "I was just wonderin'. I've always liked 'em. Mexico's got really nice ones." Ian hummed and rested his head on Mickey's left shoulder, another little maneuver that was making Mickey thinking Ian could want something more, too. He was always touching him the way Mickey wanted to touch him.

 

"Gonna take me to Mexico one day, Mick?" he asked lightly. Mickey let himself smiled and closed his eyes has he rested his head against the headboard. He couldn't help his mind wondering to where he wished they could be. He imagined sitting on the beach with beer and Ian, because what more could he need? The water would splash their feet and the sun would warm their skin just as much as they warmed each other. Everything would be peaceful and they'd be free and nothing bad could ever happen to them.

 

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

 

"That can be our first date." Mickey opened his eyes and his heart clenched. Hearing Ian talk about things that would be so far in the future and still involving the two of them did things to him he didn't know were possible. He'd jump at the first mention of being able to really take Ian Gallagher on a date, but he couldn't give that away.

 

"Shut up with that shit." He shook his head and handed the spliff back to Ian and played with his fingers in his lap, working himself up. There was still more he wanted to know, and maybe now while the conversation was light and easy was the best time to bring it up. He cleared his throat and went for it. "You still fuckin' your old dudes?" It hadn't come out as strong as he was hoping, but not as weak as it could've.

 

"Eh, not really, they're kinda all out of the way, not really worth it. Uh, still Kash sometimes, I guess. Mostly cause he's my boss and I can't really tell him no when he's pressing on me, ya know?" Mickey hummed. It wasn't as bad as he was hoping, Ian was fucking around with the whole town, but he still hated the idea of him adn that old fuck. And wasn't there another guy? His stomach dropped. Ian had that fucking guy he'd been _crushing_ on, and who knew when they'd start fucking. "What about you?" He snapped Mickey out of his thoughts and made him look down at Ian's torso since he couldn't see his face and raised his eyebrows.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I mean, are you fucking other dudes or-"

 

"Why the hell would I be fuckin' dudes what's that supposed to mean?" He didn't mean to get so defensive, but he hated the idea of Ian thinking about Mickey with other people. Ian sighed and lifted his head to look at Mickey. He finished the spliff with a long drag and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the headboard.

 

"We're really gonna have the 'you're not gay but you fuck me' talk again, are we?" Oh, wait. Was  _that_ what this was about? 

 

"I'm not-"

 

"Jesus Christ, Mickey, yeah you are. Why can't you just fucking-" Mickey sighed and sat up a little straighter. Ian had no clue what was going on in his head, and he was just going to have to come out and say it; literally.

 

"Yeah, I'm fucking gay, okay? You happy? I'm gay and-and I don't want you fucking Kash, or anyone, okay? I don't want you fucking other people." His voice was quiet and he could barely hold eye contact with Ian, whose face was now as red as his hair. He huffed loudly. He hadn't really meant to say  _that_ much.  _Fuck._ Maybe it's what he needed, though .  He felt his hands begin to shake and he clenched them into fists in his lap to keep them from trembling.

 

"Oh," Ian whispered. Mickey couldn't keep his thoughts straight. His heart and mind were racing so fast. He really just said aloud that he didn't want Ian to see anyone but him anymore. _Great_. Ian's face softened and he chanced lifting his hand to Mickey's cheek. He flinched but recovered quickly. "Other people? As in people other than you? Other people besides you?" he whispered. Mickey could feel his cheeks reddening and he couldn't stop sweating or shaking. Thinking it and saying it aloud were two very different things.

 

"Come on, man." Mickey turned his head to avoid Ian but his chin got pulled back and titled a bit to look Ian in the eye. His breath got held in his throat and his eyes widened as they stared at each other for a minute. Ian's bright eyes were slowly darkening, and Mickey couldn't tell if it was from lust or anger.

 

"Say it," Ian whispered, "tell me what you want." When Mickey didn't answer because of his nerves, he moved his right hand from Mickey's chin down to his throat. He wrapped his fingers around the side of his neck and rubbed his thumb over his bobbing Adam's apple. Mickey swallowed thickly and wet his lips.

 

"I-I want you t-to fuck me," Mickey stammered.

 

"Only you?"

 

"Only me." Ian smirked down at Mickey and nodded.

 

"If you're good to go for round two already," he whispered thickly into Mickey's neck as he moved to straddle him. Throughout the whole time they fucked that night, Mickey kept repeating 'only me' in his head.

 

⁂

 

 

"Hey, come on. We're not goin' to my house today," Mickey said when Ian stepped outside. Mickey had been waiting outside the gate of the Gallagher house, shuffling his feet and melting in the heat. He only ever met Ian there when they were going somewhere other than either of their houses.

 

"Gonna finally take me on a date like I've been asking for?" Ian smiled as he came to stand next to Mickey so the two could start walking. Mickey just rolled his eyes. "Or maybe you're gonna finally take me to Mexico? I keep hearing promises of beautiful Mexican beaches."

 

"You're gonna eat your fuckin' heart out the day I take you across that damn boarder," he cleared his throat when he felt himself blush, "and stop trying to get me to do gay shit with you, we're not goin' on a fuckin' date. That's for couples and shit." Of course, Mickey would kill to go on a date with Ian.

 

"Right, my bad. We just fuck a couple times a week. Definitely nothing gay here. Also not a couple. Even though, I don't know, we fuck and hang out and that's what every couple I know does, so maybe we should- okay! Jesus. Why do you always hit me!"

 

"'Cause you don't know when to shut the fuck up." Mickey continued leading them up and over streets in the warm August air. He just wanted to get Gallagher away from their houses where he had to share him with their families. Mickey Milkovich did  not  share. And, as he's proven multiple times, even to Ian himself; he certainly does not share Ian. But, still, he knew about the others. "Why don't you have one of your boyfriends take you out?" He scrunched his nose and kept his head down as they walked.

 

"Well, they used to, when I was still seeing them." Mickey turned his head to peek at Ian.

 

"You're not fuckin' Chicago's 60 and over club no more?" Ian shook his head.

 

"Not even Kash?"

 

"Not even Kash." Mickey nodded and looked straight ahead. He licked his lips to hide his smile. HIs heart swelled and his stomach felt warm. "I've been a little more preoccupied lately; got me a new guy." He sounds smug and teasing and Mickey can't decide if he hates it or loves it. But, he does know he hates the feeling that is causing his stomach to clench this way. The warmness completely gone, he just felt cold and empty now. Why did he keep forgetting about the guy? Maybe all the time he was spending with him lately made him forget there were other people besides the two of them. Gallagher was really gonna bring up that twink he's out there trying to be with? He couldn't deal with that shit. He just hums and turns down a street.

 

"Mhm, got me a little Southside thug. Though, he does have this soft side somewhere in him that I've seen a few times, so I guess he's more like a little thugmuffin. Real cute, too. One flaw though," Ian had inched ever so carefully so his arm bumped Mickey's. Oh, _he_  was thetwink. That's why they never talked about the guy anymore, it was Mickey. When he had picked up that he was Gallagher's new boy he perked up, staring at him with nothing short of wide, twinkling eyes.

 

"Just one, huh? The fucker."

 

"He doesn't like when I talk to his dick. I keep telling him I'm just trying to connect and build a strong bond but he won't listen." Mickey snapped his head to look at him better.

 

"Wait, did you call me thugmuffin?" Ian pulled back and smiled at Mickey's hardened face.

 

"Yeah, ya know, all tough and scary on the outside, but nice and warm inside. Plus, and here's where I'd be licking your neck to prove my point, you taste real good." Mickey hummed and licked his lips again. Fuck Ian and him getting Mickey all worked up when they were out in the open and couldn't do anything. He looked ahead again and tried to subtly move his hardening cock around in his pants so he could fucking walk. He needed a subject change so he could stop being flustered for a minute.

 

"So, If I promise that in some weird world where we dated I took you on dates, would you shut up about that shit?" Yeah, okay, so maybe that wasn't any better.Now he was thinking about dating Ian and taking him out to dinner and that did worse things to him than the sex talk.

 

"Guess so," Ian mumbled, "or you could just do it in this world," he said even quieter, but Mickey definitely heard it and his stomach definitely jumped. He knocked his hand against Ian's a couple times, needing to touch him.  That would really be something; dating Ian Gallagher, taking him out to fuckin' dinner or some shit. They seemed like they were going to actually be quiet after that, but that was never the case. "So where are you taking me on this fine Thursday afternoon?" His voice sounded warm again.

 

"Just a new place," he hitched his backpack up higher on his shoulder so it wouldn't slip. "I'm getting tired of never having any damn privacy. Figured we could go somewhere else sometimes." Ian nudged Mickey's arm with his elbow.

 

"Wanna keep me to yourself, huh?"  _Yes_.

 

"Come on, man. You really wanna keep fucking with the possibility of someone comin' through the door?" He sniffed lightly. "And it'll be easier to just hang out without them trying to hop in." Ian hummed lightly next to him and they stayed quiet for the rest of the walk.

 

When they finally approached the gate of the old little league field, Mickey felt so many emotions rush inside him. He hadn't been here in so long, but it felt like coming home, especially with the ginger there with him. He gave Ian his backpack to hold while he climbed the fence. He reached down to grab the bag and hopped to the ground on the other side and walked over to one of the benches in the dugout and set the pack down to open it. "Holy shit, I haven't been here in forever. Is this a good place to fuck though?"

 

"It's noon during summer break, you see anyone trynna use the field right now?" Mickey grabbed a beer from his bag and pulled out his switchblade from his pocket. "Come here," he said softly as he turned around to face Ian. He stabbed the side of the can with his knife and let the cool liquid spray into his mouth. He slid his knife into his back pocket and popped the tab on the can. He moved his left hand to the back of Ian's neck to bring him close. He pulled the can away from his mouth and put it up to Ian's, who lifted his hand to grab to can, but Mickey never let go, so he just held onto the back of his pale hand. Mickey stared at Ian's face, breathlessly, while he finished the beer. He could see a thin stream on foam and beer running down his chin and he wanted nothing more to clean it up.  _Fuck._

 

Maybe it was the alcohol already or maybe it was just being this near to Ian, but Mickey decided to go for it. He let go of the can when Ian was done and let him hold it instead. He kept one hand on the back of his neck and used the other to tilt his head back with his thumb on the bottom of his chin. Mickey lowered his head, and from the top of Ian's sternum, he licked slowly up his throat, over his Adam's apple, and over his chin, only stopping and inch from his bottom lip. He pulled back and looked at Ian, whose eyes were wide. Mickey felt himself starting to panic. Had he gone too far? Maybe he shouldn't have done that.

 

"You should do that more often," Ian finally said. His voice was low and heavy. Mickey just blinked back at him in confusion.

 

"What? Lick your neck?"

 

"Well that too. But I mean stuff like that where you just go for it. You look really good right now, really confident and healthy. Happy." He tilted his head to the side and continued to stare. Mickey felt nervous under the intense gaze, but also really fucking loved that he could hold Ian's attention like this "Not that you don't always look good. You do. But sometimes you do stuff with this confidence or reckless abandon and it just looks so fucking good on you. But you also just look happy lately, and that's so hot. Your fucking smile, that real one you get sometimes, is the sexiest thing I've ever seen. You get this twinkle in your eyes and-" he stopped and flinched which just made Mickey more confused.

 

"What the fuck was that?"

 

"I thought you were gonna hit me. You always hit me when I talk too much," Ian rubbed his neck almost nervously. Well that's not what you want.

 

"You always talk too much," he said quietly. Mickey brows somehow pulled even closer together. Given their past history with Mickey and his fists, maybe he shouldn't be hitting Ian anymore, even playfully. "I'll stop. I don't like hitting you. I-I like when you talk, too. But I just- I don't know. Sometimes I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to say back so I think making you shut up makes more sense. That probably says a fucking lot about my childhood..." he trailed off and looked at the ground. He coughed into his fist. "I talk a lot too, sometimes, you should hit me back once in a while." Ian stepped closer to him and was pulling him into his space.

 

"Wanna stop talking and fuck?" Mickey looked up and nodded eagerly, and Ian was already pulling his tank top off for him.


	9. Chapter 9

_** Chapter Nine ** _

 

 

 

 

 

"Would you just- fu-uck," Mickey gasped, a couple days later, and turned his head to hide his face in the pillow to muffle his cries. He was practically shaking now, it was all too much. He just wanted Ian already.

 

"Want me to stop?" Ian panted from somewhere behind him.

 

"I want you to fuck me already. You've been back there eating my ass for a damn hour, just get on me already." Even though his complaining was what put a halt to Ian's licking and sucking, he was already missing it. He realized he was pushing his hips back slightly in the air and tried stopping but just couldn't. His body was begging for more, and he knew Ian could see it, but he just didn't care, not right now. Ian began kissing his thighs and cheeks lightly, and Mickey was floating. Having Ian's touch on his thighs in anyway was a surefire way to get Mickey lost in a world of Ian Gallagher; but, then again, most things were. "You always gotta be so damn experimental," he breathed out.

 

"Ned always let me eat him out whenever I wanted..." he tried. Mickey huffed and brought his hips back down to the bed and stretched out. _Fucking a_ _wesome._ He rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes, intent on giving a nice pouting show. Was now really the time to bring up the exes? Mickey's stomach twisted with jealousy. He swears Ian knows all the right buttons to push to set him off, and is always using them to his advantage. It wasn't fair. Mickey just wanted to be with Ian, touch him and fuck him, sure, but even if they'd just lay there in silence, he'd be okay with that. But, he didn't want to talk about all the  _super_ pleasurable shit Ian did with those old fucks, he wanted to talk about what _they_ were going to do next time  _they_ fucked, and what stuff they could do when they hung out and about Ian's childhood and his favorite food and movie and what's his favorite color? And- _okay, chill._

 

"Yeah? What else did the old fuck do for you?" It had been rhetorical. No answer was needed. No answer was _wanted_. But, leave it Ian Gallagher.

 

"He bought me stuff, kissed and held me, even in public," he was whispering now. Behind him, Mickey could feel Ian lower himself onto his small bed and move to press his body against Mickey. They more or less spooning and it's nice. He was trying really hard to sulk and be mad, but how the hell was he supposed to do that when the felt like one body right now? Mickey's still facing the wall of Ian's bedroom and he feels himself melt at the warm touch of Ian's hands rubbing all over his body. "He'd ride me, too. Real fuckin' good. Whenever I wanted. And-"

 

Mickey huffed and rolled to glare at Ian. He didn't have much money. He kept what he could from collections but that only would get him so far. He wouldn't be able to buy stuff for Ian. As much as he wanted to hold and kiss Ian, he just couldn't. Especially not in public. He'd kiss him one day, he's sure, even if it's a goodbye kiss, but he just wasn't ready yet. But, riding him? He didn't think he'd like it but he'd do if for Ian to prove he was just as good as the other guys he's been with.

 

The pair just stared at each other for a minute, Mickey's glare never wavering. "I hate you, you know that? You and your fucking eighty year old men." He scrunched his nose up and Ian just smiled.

 

"Their ages always go up when you talk about them. You think I'm gonna let an eighty year old ride me? I don't want 'em dying on me, literally on me. He wasn't that old-hey, come here, Mr. Grumbles." He pulled Mickey back when he tried to roll over again. "I'm just saying. You should let me have my fun sometimes? What's wrong with a little fun?" he teased. Mickey rolled his eyes because leave it to Ian to make this a thing about him getting what he wants. Lord knows he'd always get what wants with Mickey; the man was to weak for that copper hair and dopey smile.

 

"You can't have my ass and eat it too," he murmured. Ian just laughed, hot air billowing over Mickey's face. It always had to be take, take, take with Gallagher.

 

"Can't I?" He reached down and grabbed Mickey's ass with one hand and Mickey's breath visibly hitched. "I definitely have it, and I'm pretty sure I was just eating it."

 

"Fine, but can you just fuck me now? Save the eating for later, I'll give ya a real nice snack," he Mickey said lowly and he moved to straddle Ian. He figured he might as well get this over with. Ian wouldn't shut up about it if he didn't, and he always had a way of getting what he wanted, no matter how many times you told him no. He reached for a condom on the window sill by Ian's bed and opened it. Ian had worked him enough with his fingers and tongue, he'd be able to just go for it. He rolled the condom onto Ian's dick but made no movements to do any more, just stared down at Ian's stomach. He never once looked at Ian but he was scared of what he'd see and how he'd react. Ian probably looked so sinful right no, with flushed cheeks and blown pupils. His lips were most likely either beautifully parted or on the verge on bleeding with how hard Ian could be biting them right now.

 

"You okay? You don't have to..." Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

"Yeah, you say that but you know you wouldn't let this shit go. Just, uhm-" he cleared his throat and bit his lip. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with his hands or body and he didn't know how to tell Ian or ask what he wanted him to do. Ian seemed to understand, though. He grabbed Mickey's hand and kissed the tattooed knuckles. Mickey wished his stomach didn't flutter, but he wished more his eyes didn't dart up to be met with what he was expecting but dreading. Ian looked exactly how he thought he would (lips parted, by the way, and Mickey almost cried), and he knew right then, gazing into dark green eyes with long, thin gingers rubbing his wrist, just how gone he was for this kid. He'd never be able to be the man he once was, he'd never be the same. Ian Gallagher had ruined Mickey Milkovich for every other damn person on this planet, even himself. But, he wasn't mad.

 

"It's okay, Mick." He let go of Mickey's hand and moved it down to his dick to hold it. With his other hand he pushed Mickey's hip back until he could start pushing in. Mickey gasped and hung his mouth open. He started pushing down himself and met Ian halfway by the time there was no more to Ian to get. Ian lowered his hips to the bed and Mickey followed. They stayed like that for a minute; Ian's hands were gripping Mickey's hips so tight his knuckles were white, and Mickey was just sitting in Ian's lap, his head back so he was looking at the ceiling and his hands holding onto Ian's strong arms. He didn't know what else he was supposed to do, but he knew he needed a minute. With the gift of gravity (which has him thinking he's got to write a letter to NASA to thank them personally for this discovery), Mickey is more full than he ever has been his whole life (no pun intended, Gallagher would be too proud), and it's all Ian. He feels stretched and achy and slightly pained, but he honestly doesn't hate it, and the only negative thing he has to say about this new position so far is be on display for Ian like this, but even then, not really. He always got so nervous under Ian's close gaze, but he also really fucking loved the way he looked at Mickey.

 

"Breathe," Ian whispered and Mickey inhaled a rush of air. He didn't even know he was holding his breath. He'd never felt this connected or full before, physically and otherwise. He just needed another minute still, it was a lot to handle, again, physically and otherwise. He took a couple more deep breaths and looked back to Ian. The second blue eyes met green, Mickey's body took matters into its own hands, literally. His hands moved up Ian's arms until he was holding is face. He leaned forward so their faces were only an inch or two apart. Now would be the perfect time. He could just kiss him. But he couldn't. He moved his head and rested it on Ian's shoulder, bringing his hands down to the bed.

 

Mickey finally started moving, pulling forward and moving back on Ian, and boy, was this amazing. Ian kept his hands on his hips to help him move, but eventually moved them up to his bare back. This was slower than anything they've done before. They were usually quick and rough, but this was soft and gentle. Why? Mickey moved his hands under Ian's arms and wrapped them up so he could grip his shoulders from behind. They slowly built up their speed, Ian rocking his hips up to meet Mickey and he found himself kissing an sucking on Ian's neck. He tried to steer clear from shit like that because it was just another step closer to falling too deep and really kissing him, but he couldn't be bothered right now, not by his own rules, he just wanted to feel and taste Ian. Which, by the way, Ian Gallagher is definitely his new favorite flavor.

 

Their moans were still soft and breathy; beautiful. Mickey doesn't know much, or anything, about classical music, but he thinks this is what symphonies are written about. The quiet moans and whines, the light panting, the tingling all over his body, the cool sweat coating them both; this is what people wrote music to portray. Every note played on every instrument in the orchestra was meant to get these sounds and feelings out to an audience. Every time Ian stroked his skin or whimpered his name, Mickey could hear and feel the violins running their bows across the tight strings. He' pick up speed, just for a minute, and the drums would pounding so hard, with so much passion, Mickey feels it in his soul. He can only imagine what the climax with look, sound, and feel like. If Mickey was ever in need of a muse for something, he knows he'd find it in Ian Gallagher.

 

He feels everything building inside him and clenches his eyes shut as Ian begins whispering his name in his ear over and over again. No said his name the way Ian did, and he never wanted anyone _but_ Ian to ever say it for the rest of his life. Ian moved one of his hands down to Mickey's dick and began stroking him, causing Mickey to immediately sit up at the touch. As much as he was enjoying the scenic route, and _fuck_ he was, they had to stop. He couldn't cum while they were being this gentle with each other. Physically, he totally could. But, he wouldn't let himself. They needed to keep the emotions away from the sex, away period if they could help it. Everyday he felt himself falling deeper into this abysmal Ian Gallagher pit, but like fuck were they going to start doing this shit. He wouldn't be able to handle this anymore if they did. He'd never be able to crawl out.

 

He kept his head back and began fucking himself onto Ian as fast as he could, biting his lip to keep this cries in, and tried turning them into low moans instead, but his efforts are futile. He was panting and moaning more intensely than he ever had. He's cussing and groaning and crying out for _more_ and _harder_ and _please don't fucking stop_. Mickey didn't let himself look at Ian while he finally came, riding through his orgasm, literally. It ended up sounding like the most beautiful harmony between the whole orchestra, everyone bringing all they had to offer out into the crowd, to really share the story. The story of how a little fucked up boy from a fucked up home in the fucked up part of town found himself circling the life of a small ginger boy like he was a vulture, and doing everything he could to latch on to him and never leave. He waited to make sure Ian was good, too, before stilling his body and immediately rolling off to lay back on the bed. He was between the wall and Gallagher again and trying to catch his breath. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ian leaning over the bed, probably tossing the condom and cleaning the cum off his stomach.

 

He laid back down and looked at Mickey. "Did you hate it?" He asked breathlessly.  _No_.  That had been the best fuck he'd ever had and he didn't think he'd ever forget it. But like hell could Ian know that. He sniffed lightly.

 

"It was okay. Was Ned better?" Why did he torture himself like this? He felt Ian shrug next to him.

 

"Don't know. We never actually did it." Mickey snapped his head to his right and glared at Ian, lifting his head off the thin pillow.

 

"You manipulative fuck," he huffed and fell back onto the pillow. "Why the fuck did you go make a big deal about shit that wasn't even true?"

 

"'Cause I wanted to do it but I knew you wouldn't," Ian whispered and turned on his side. He grabbed Mickey's right hand and traced his tattoos mindlessly. "Plus, you're cute when you're jealous." _Cute?_   He was just gonna have to skim past that one for the time being.

 

"You could've just said you wanted to. I probably would've fuckin' done it eventually. I'd probably do anyth-" Mickey clamped his mouth shut and felt his face turn red. Damn Gallagher, always making him reveal his secrets.

 

"You'd probably do what?" He was still rubbing Mickey's hand in his. _ Anything. Anything you asked me to. _

 

"Just, like, whatever you wanted to try I guess. If I wanna keep fuckin' I gotta keep you interested, right?" Ian sighed and let go of Mickey's hand. That wasn't the right thing to say, was it?  _God damn it_.  He never knew what was the right and wrong thing. He felt bad for saying it at all because he knew it wasn't true, but now felt worse because Ian _did_ think it was true. Against his better judgment, he lifted his right hand and moved it on top of Ian's hands which were resting on his stomach. Ian turned his head to look at Mickey, who was looking down at there hands. He couldn't stop the words spilling out of his mouth when he coughed and began rambling.

 

     "I, uhm, it's my birthday in like a week. I told my brothers and Mandy to fuck off for the weekend so I could have the house to myself. We never do stuff, ya know? My family, I mean. For birthdays. So I just I just figured I could hangout or whatever. But, uhm, if you're not doing anything, you can come by. I mean-fuck. I want you to come over, or whatever. Even just to fuck once or whatever." He closed his eyes and imagined how getting hit by a car was probably less painful than this.

 

"Can I stay the whole time? The whole weekend?" Ian turned his head to look at their hands, too, and was playing with Mickey's fingers. Mickey slowly rolled his head so it was resting against Ian's shoulder and hummed.

 

"If you fuckin' want. Its gonna be boring as shit though."

 

"No well have fun. I'll bring some stuff, weed, beer, the usual. Wanna cake?" Mickey rolled his eyes and laughed.

 

"I'm turning nineteen not five."

 

"So no cake?"

 

"Okay, a chocolate cake. But I'll kick your fucking ass if you put candles on it." Ian laughed an nodded.

 

"No candles for the birthday boy. What is your stance on birthday spankings, though?" Mickey pulled his head up to look at Ian through squinted eyes.

 

"You really trynna beat my ass in every sense of the word, huh? Jesus Christ." He rolled onto his side so he was facing Ian. He pulled his right hand back into his body but offered him his left hand instead and closed his eyes. This was all still too soft, especially after whatever the fuck they just had was, but he couldn't help himself. This was what he wanted most of the time, this was what he wanted more of, but was always scared to do as often.

 

"Okay, okay no spankings either. We'll be nice to the butt. On the bright side, I like doing nice things to your ass, too, so still a win win. You take all the fun outta fucking you." He mumbled. Mickey peeked at Ian before closing his eyes again and yawned.

 

"If I'm so boring to fuck, why do you keep doing it?"

 

"'Cause I like fucking you. I like hanging out with you, too." Mickey stayed quiet for a long time, his heart was a flutter.  _Fuck._

 

"Me too," he eventually whispered. He hoped Ian wouldn't say anything back, and he didn't. The two ended up falling asleep together, naked, on top of Ian's old blanket. They were playing a risky game when they had no idea when the rest of the Gallagher's would be back, but who could fucking care when you got sleep next to and touching Ian fucking Gallagher?

 

⁂

 

 

Mickey's birthday had come and gone in a flash, and so did Ian. He ended up having to work the whole weekend so he didn't get to stay over at Mickey's as they both wished. Ian said he thought he'd had that weekend off but when he asked his boss to double check because he had plans, he was told he had extra shifts instead. Mickey is one hundred percent sure his boss is just being a damn baby because Ian won't fuck him anymore. He probably also suspects he's 'seeing' someone and is jealous. Serves the fucker right, having a taste of his own medicine.

 

After his shifts at the store, he'd go straight to Mickey's house and stay for a couple hours. They fucked in every room of the house and on every surface that weekend. Really claiming the territory, the man's way. They figured if they didn't have a ton of time, they were going to take advantage of the empty house as much as they could. In between fucks, they'd sit at the table or in Mickey's bed and eat the cake Ian brought or pizza rolls that Mickey would heat up.

 

They talked while they ate, just about whatever. Ian told Mickey about his diminishing dreams of being in the army, about how awkward things were at work because Kash still wouldn't fully take the hint that Ian didn't want to fuck anymore. Mickey told Ian about how the only real ambition he could remember having for a career was an astronaut when he was six, so he could get shot out into space and not have to come back down to earth (a funny idea now with his obsession with stars because of freckly skin he knows, but he definitely didn't share that). He told him some of his favorite stories from runs he used to do with his dad. They talked about their fucked up childhoods and their parents. Ian told Mickey about the first time his mom and dad left him and his brother and sister in the car for three days, and Mickey told Ian about when his mom died.

 

Talking eventually turned into their new normal. After that birthday weekend, whenever they weren't fucking they were talking. They'd lay in one of their beds or on the benches or grass at the dugout and let it all out. Mickey loved it, and hoped they never stopped. When they ran out of stories they ask questions. 'What's your favorite color?' 'Where would you go if you could leave Southside?' 'Have you ever been in love?'

 

"That's a stupid question," Mickey huffed and finished off the rest of his beer. They were sitting across from each other on separate benches of their dugout. The sun had already set, but the air was still warm. They hadn't done anything more than talk that night, and Mickey was more than okay with that. He liked the times they were just together as much as he liked the fucking.

 

"No it's not," Ian said seriously, rolling his eyes.

 

"Yes it is. I was fucking random women from bars and now I'm fucking you. Not a lot of room for that shit is there? Not for a Southside fag." Except there totally was because even if he'd never admit it to himself, Mickey Milkovich was totally falling in love; he just hadn't realized yet, or maybe he did, but was pretending it was just heartburn he felt every time he was with Ian or thought about him. The clenching of his chest just _had_ to be medical, nothing more. Ian's face fell slightly but he just nodded and stared past Mickey into the dark, empty pitch. He didn't understand why Ian looked sad, but knew it was his fault. Shocker. "Do you think I'm mean to you? I mean, am I mean to you?" Ian's eyes found Mickey's and he looked confused.   _Smooth_.

 

"Are you mean to me?" Ian repeated. Mickey nodded.

 

"Yeah, like, I don't know. Sometimes I say something or do something and you get this look on your face like just now and I feel like an asshole."

 

"Well you let me put my dick in your ass so that's nice of you," Ian laughed.

 

"No, I'm fucking serious. You gotta tell me when I'm being a dick because I won't know. I don't fucking notice, and I don't wanna be like that with yo-," he coughed to stop himself, "s-so you just gotta tell me to knock that shit off when I'm being an ass, okay?" Ian nodded slowly.

 

"Okay. I will." He looked down at the ground. "It's not cause you're an ass. I mean, sometimes it is, but that's just part of your charm," they both looked at each other; Ian smiling Mickey glaring. "But, it's usually just personal stuff I guess." Mickey felt a pang of sadness. He thought they were getting somewhere, they practically told each other everything at this point. But, apparently, Ian was still keeping stuff to himself.

 

"More personal stuff, huh? You ever gonna tell me?" Ian pursed his lips and jutted his chin out. The fucking chin.

 

"Maybe. Hopefully."  _Hopefully_?  What did that mean? Mickey opened his mouth to say something, but Ian beat him to it, "that's the thing with secrets, remember? You gotta keep 'em." Mickey furrowed his brows and kicked Ian's foot.

 

"Yeah, but from me too?" He asked softly. Ian smiled and tilted his head. He sounded so desperate and it was annoying. He was practically begging at this point. He barely got on his knees to blow the guy, no way he was gonna get down to beg for a damn secret.

 

"I'll tell you, I just don't think now's the time. I gotta make sure I got a shot first." He was speaking just above a whisper and in such a weird tone. Mickey felt like he was supposed to be reading between lines rights now, but he didn't even understand the message at face value, no way he'd be able to decipher what Gallagher was trying to say. He really couldn't just spit it out?

 

"You're so fucking annoying," he gave up an shook his head, leaned it back against the fence behind him, and closed his eyes.

 

"Mick?" Mickey hummed in response. "You're kinda being an ass," he said matter-of-factly. Without opening his eyes, Mickey reached for one of the empty beer cans to his right and threw one right at Ian's head, pulling a beautiful, genuine laugh from his lips, and it was music to Mickey's ears. He was _totally_ down for the count in regards to his feelings for Ian. He'd realize it, one day. He should probably be scared, maybe he is. What's scary is the idea of  _not_ being scared when it happens. Mickey would all but wake up one day and just _know_ and then it would be over. He'd never be able to run away from the man. After that, the only way would be if Ian himself chose to end it, or if Mickey self sabotaged for some fucked up reason. Both were very possible, but one was more bone chillingly terrifying than the other; Ian leaving.


	10. Chapter 10

_** Chapter Ten ** _

 

 

 

 

"You still tell Mandy about me?"

 

"When she asks, but she's always so caught up in her own shit. Her and Lip fight like every other day but she still won't tell me so it's all fucking annoying."

 

" She's  fucking annoying," Mickey complained and sat up in his bed. Iggy and Colin had gone to visit their dad in jail and Mandy had work, so they decided to hang out at his house for a couple hours. Ian was back in school again, so they were more limited than before with when they could see each other, and Mickey hated it. He Just wanted more time with the guy, but it was harder to make plans now.

 

"What about you?"

 

"What about me what?" Ian laughed and sat up on Mickey's left.

 

"Who do you tell? About me? No way you can keep this a secret," he said, gesturing to himself.

 

"Right," Mickey snorted, "'cause I should be shouting about your ass on the rooftops." Ian bobbed his head from side to side.

 

"I mean, I'd prefer you shout about my dick, but whatever makes ya happy," he smiled at Mickey brightly. He slid his right hand onto Mickey's thigh and rubbed it. They were quiet for a few minutes before Mickey grabbed Ian's hand and began playing with his fingers. By now, Ian probably knew that meant he was working up to say or do something. Ian hummed to himself and let his head roll onto Mickey's shoulder. He does it so gently, it's like he thinks no one will notice.

 

Mickey blinks and looks down at their hands after an silence continues to draw out, still not sure what to say. He's not playing with Ian's fingers anymore, they're just interlocked. They're just holding hands in his lap. Every so often, Ian bends his long fingers awkwardly and rubs Mickey's tattoos. He's caught Ian looking at his hands a couple times but always just thought it was about his hands. Ian seem to just like his tattoos at this point. Mickey's stomach flutters.

 

"I don't tell anyone," he admits quietly, surprising both men. Ian lifts his head to look at him again, noticing the pinkness of Mickey's face that wasn't there before. "I mean, not like in a bad way. Fuck. I mean, like, if I had people to tell I probably would, but like- I don't know, I don't think I really have friends." He's stumbling over his words and can feel his face heating, his eyes never lifting from their connected hands. Why was it so hard to either keeps his thoughts to himself around Ian, would get the thoughts out to him in a away that made sense?

 

"Okay, well, tell me," Ian beams. Mickey just scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I'm serious, just pretend I'm someone else. Tell me all about this new guy you've been seeing." He wiggles his eyebrows before resting his head back on the older man's shoulder. Mickey just sighed. It _would_ be nice to talk about Ian, even just a little, even to Ian himself.

 

"Well, he's fucking annoying, for one thing. Thinks he's a little ball of sunshine and is always looking for the fucking silver lining in shit." Mickey scrunched his nose, knowing he was about to start rambling, but not caring. "Always making jokes like he's preforming a god damned comedy special and not fucking me. And his dumb hair that's just as loud as he is. And, like, just a stupid face." Ian chuckles next to him.

 

"God, he sounds like a real prick."

 

"Oh he is, I don't know where he gets off thinking it's cute."

 

"Well, if I had to take a guess, I'd say he gets off right around this area, depending, ya know?" Ian slides his hand down from Mickey's thigh under the blanket, to the side of his ass, grabbing it as roughly as he can at the angle. He just laughs when Mickey starts pinching his sides. "Okay, okay! Sorry! A time and a place; got it. Just like when I'm getting off- Okay!" Mickey finally shuts him up by twisting one of his nipples. Ian winces and rubs his chest while he continues to laugh.

 

"He's not all bad though," Mickey keeps going once the laughter dies. He couldn't help himself. Ian puts his head back on Mickey's shoulder and his hand on his thigh, encouraging him along. "He's not always annoying. I like- I like when he's around, I guess. Things feel less lonely or whatever. He's like a real friend, which I don't really have so that's cool, I guess," he finishes lamely and it goes quiet again. The longer Ian doesn't say anything, the more Mickey panics that he sounded dumb, but tries to do what Ian would, and hold out hope for the best. He lightly rests the side of his head on top of Ian's.

 

"I am your friend, Mick," Ian finally says at length. He knows it's supposed to be comforting but it makes him feel like shit instantly. He didn't want to be friends. There were other things, things that he couldn't admit to wanting, that he  _ did  _ want to be with Ian, and friends with benefits just wasn't enough. His mood had took a plummeting fall down a cliff, and he didn't want to talk anymore. Mickey hummed. He didn't want Ian to catch on too easily that he was upset, so he tried to not act so sour.

 

"Yeah, I guess." He squeezed Ian's hand tightly and sighed. He let go of the redhead and got off the bed. "Iggy and Colin are gonna be back soon. You can stay if you want but Colin doesn't really like you." This was going well. "I mean, well, he doesn't like people, so by default he doesn't like you." He pulled on his jeans and watched Ian as got himself dressed, too, just as sluggishly and sad looking as Mickey knew he was. The air in the room was stale as usual, but now there was undertones of hurt and confusion and it was just weird. He wished he was better at talking, especially to Ian, because then he could just tell him how he really felt and what he really wanted. Things would be so much easier, and never awkward.

 

"You don't like people, but I mean," he gestured to the bed before pulling his on his shirt. Mickey tipped his head to the side before straightening up.

 

"Yeah, but I've got a soft spot for you-"

 

"And a hard spot."

 

"-and he just hates everyone, he's not too fond of me all the time." Ian nodded and grabbed the rest of his stuff. He walked around the bed and stood in front of Mickey. Goodbyes were always weird with them because they should kiss, Mickey wanted to, but they couldn't. Hugging wasn't really a thing they did, and felt like that was even a step further than kissing. Were they suppose to high five or shake hands? _Thanks for putting your dick in my ass, same time next week?_  "Hey, you coming over tomorrow?" he whispered and reached forward to play with his shirt, pulling him ever so closer. He knows hes technically the one kicking him out, but he really does want him to stay. Ian smiles at it.

 

"I can't tomorrow, but I'll come by the night after. It'll be late though. Leave your window open for me," he laughed when Mickey rolled his eyes. "Bye Mick," he lifted a tattooed hand to kiss it. Mickey was so engrossed my the gesture. He wanted to watch it for hours. He reached into Mickey's lose jeans and palmed his dick through his boxers. "Ah, see, there it is, the hard spot." Mickey smacked his hand away and rolled his eyes. He went to the bathroom, turning back every other step to watch Ian, who let himself out, calling another goodbye to Mickey.

 

 

⁂

 

 

"Do you actually know any constellation?"

 

"'Course I fuckin' do, there's-"

 

"I mean real ones."

 

"Oh, no. I mean, like, I know the three in a row, the belt. And the dippers. That's it though. I like the belt. Who's belt is it? Fuckin' O'rileys belt?" Ian bursted out laughing, causing Mickey to smile at the beautiful noise.

 

"Orion, Mick, it's Orion's Belt."

 

"Stop fucking moving, man," Mickey groaned and gripped Ian tighter. They were laying on Mickey's bed, both in nothing but boxers, so the usual. They had been fucking, an exceptional fuck, by the way (which was saying something become in two months, give or take, they've never had anything less then toe curling and scream inducing), and Ian had admitted to seeing stars as he came in Mickey. Mickey had then let slip that he always sees stars with Ian and quickly covered it up by comparing his freckles to the night sky. He didn't feel too guilty since it was technically only a half lie; he definitely did see stars when he looked at Ian's freckles, and Ian's freckles when he looked up at the stars, but there was almost never a moment Mickey  _didn't_   see stars when it came to Ian.

 

The confessions had led Mickey to dig around his nightstand for a pen or sharpie. And, that's how he found himself laying on Ian's crotch and stomach, into between the long legs, that Ian kept rubbing against Mickey's. He was connecting his freckles, turning Ian's body into a walking star chart. "There, that's all I can reach from here," he sat up and admired at his artwork. "You can open your eyes now."

 

"That's cause you're so tiny and have short- oh what the fuck Mickey?" Ian sat up fully and looked down and his stomach, thighs, and half way down his arms to his hands. Mickey just sat back with the widest grin he's ever held in his whole life. "You just covered me in dicks!"

 

"Nuh-uh!" Mickey ran a hand over Ian's left thigh. "See? There's our boy, Orion's, belt. Besides, I fuckin' told you, I only know two. So I had to take some artistic liberties." He kept his hand on Ian's thigh where his boxers were pushed up to reveal more skin and smiled up at him. "Your fault for trustin' me like that. You should know better.

 

     "I do trust-" the false anger drained from Ian's face the second he looked up and he looked like he was melting. He was gaping for words like a fish out of water. "Jesus," he whispered breathlessly. Mickey pulled his hand back and furrowed his brows.

 

"W-what?"

 

"That smile you just had. You've never smiled like that before." The look on Ian's face was like he was a five year old at a magic show; he's never seen someone's eyes so wide, his jaw was actually dropped. "No one in history of the fuckin' world has ever smiled like  _that_ before."Mickey felt his face redden and he moved to get off the bed.

 

"Come on, man, fuck off with that-" Ian pulled him back onto the bed by his arm so they were facing each other again, Mickey's eyes widened.

 

"I know you don't want me to, so I won't, but fuck, I want to kiss you right now." Mickey instantly began sweating and swore he was going to have a heart attack. His mouth went dry. Ian had both his hands on Mickey's arms and lowered his head, kissing and sucking lightly on Mickey's neck. All he wanted to do right now was grab Ian and kiss him until they passed out. Maybe he could. Let's face it, he was already so far gone for Ian, kissing wouldn't change anything. They could've been doing it from the beginning. Ian's probably such a good fucking kisser. He'd probably really been missing out.

 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do it. No big deal. They've blown each other, Ian's literally eaten him out; what was a kiss to people who've sucked on each other's genitalia? He slowly lifted his hands, intent on pulling Ian back and just doing it. Before he made any real move, though, Ian was pulling himself off his neck. "I gotta go," he whispered. Panic and disappointment flooded Mickey's senses.

 

"What? Why? Right now?" He moved his hands to hold onto Ian's hips to try to keep him on the bed, which worked for a minute.

 

"It's already two in the morning, I have work in a couple hours. Plus I gotta sneak out of here before someone sees me, _and_ sneak back into _my_ house before someone notices I'm gone." He stood up from the bed and looked around the room for all of his belongings.

 

"Yeah, alright." Mickey was all huffy and upset now. "Well I got shit I gotta do tomorrow, but meet me out on the field the day after when you're done with fuckin' towelhead." He finally found his jeans under the bed and started pulling them on while Mickey moved to sit against his headboard. Ian pulled a cigarette out of his pack and put it in between Mickey's lips.

 

"Sure. I'll try to get out early." He pulled his shirt over his head while Mickey lit his cigarette and took a deep drag, watching Ian move. "It's gonna take me all morning to get these dicks off me," he huffed and looked down at his hands. Mickey just smiled, almost as bright as before.

 

"Wanted to give you something to remember me by," he said quietly.

 

"You don't have to worry about me forgetting you, Mick." Mickey hoped his exhale of smoke was enough to cover his intense blush, but he looked down just to be safe. Ian walked to the side of the bed and leaned over Mickey. He pulled the waistband of Mickey's boxers and spoke right into the opening. "Goodnight, Sylvia. Ya did good work tonight." He snapped the boxers back and stood up, smiling at Mickey.

 

"Still with fucking 'Sylvia'? You couldn't have picked a man's name? You don't fucking name a dick after a chick."

 

"But Mick," he whined playfully, "Mickey and Sylvia! It was a no brainer. She likes it, and so do I." Mickey huffed. It was like Ian knew that if he liked it, Mickey was more inclined to go with it. He liked seeing the idiot happy and smiling.

 

"Whatever. Get the fuck out of here before someone catches you." He always hated this part of their nights. He didn't like seeing Ian leave and wished he could stay. Maybe he could sometime. His brothers were leaving on a run tomorrow, and Mandy had said something about staying with a 'friend' for a couple days. He'd have to come back to that idea later. Ian leaned down again and kissed Mickey's thigh and then stomach. It shouldn't have made his heart skip a beat but it did.

 

"See ya later, Mickey," he smiled and backed out of the room slowly, quietly singing 'Love is Strange' the whole way out. They were never fucking watching Dirty Dancing again. Whenever one of them left, it felt so rushed. Like one minute they holding each other and the next minute they were separating. Mickey stubbed his stoge out into the ashtray on his headboard and sunk into his bed under his blanket. Tonight had been so good he didn't want it to end. And, he really didn't want to wait two days to see Ian again. He guessed he'd just have to make it worth it when he finally did.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**_ Chapter Eleven _ **

 

 

 

 

     The thought and possibility of Mickey becoming Ian's boyfriend had not left his mind since Iggy had made his dumb comment months ago. It also didn't help that Ian and Mickey had been managing to hang out more lately, without it always being about sex. Sure, more often than not did they find themselves engaging in some lewd acts, but the meetings were always innocent enough at first. They couldn’t help the attraction.

 

                The fantasies he was having more frequently of him and Ian being a couple had been keeping his head cloudy with the beautiful imagery. It kept warm and happy but also nervous and anxious. He wanted that, wanted hand holding and kissing and sharing their thoughts and ambitions, secrets and wishes. But, he also didn’t know if he was cut out for that. What they had right now was the closest he’s ever been to being in a relationship, and it was making him nervous enough as is. He already seemed to ruin moments or Ian’s mood sometimes by saying the wrong shit, how was he supposed to never do that?

 

                What if dating only made him worse? What if dating only pulled a weird, dickish side of him, and he was just and asshole to the guy? Or, he was secretly overly protective, and ends up not letting Ian out of his and practically keep him prison inside? What if he _is_ good at dating, but Ian isn’t into it, or even just with him? This could still just be about sex for Ian. Mickey had to frequently tell himself that couldn’t be true to calm himself down. Ian seemed to be just as into the nonsexual aspects of their time together, so why would he just drop this? Something _disastrous_ would have to happen for Ian to walk away, because no way did Mickey plan on fucking this up.

 

     Those same thoughts and fears were bombarding Mickey one night, when the boys were sprawled out on the small lawn on the other side of the fence surrounding the baseball field. There was a line of bushes between them and the sidewalk, so they were nice and hidden. It was their own secret place where they could just be together and was the only place they ever went that they didn't have to worry about getting caught. Their safe haven. Mickey loved this grassy patch.

 

     The late-night fall air chilled the grass under them, but it was nice on their skin. They were still hot and sweaty from their first round of the night and decided to just lay out for a while, enjoying their come downs. Mickey had his arms crossed behind his head and Ian kept hitting his right foot against Mickey's as he rolled it on his heel from where he was laying on Mickey’s left. The silence coating them was nice but Mickey had those things on his mind, and he really wanted to figure some of this out. Always so stuck in his head, he hated it.

 

     "Are you dating anyone?" he blurted as he continued to stare into the cloudy night sky. To his side, Ian was coughing like he had just choked and sat up, looking down at Mickey while he leaned on his right hand.

 

     "Is that a trick question?" he croaked. Mickey looked at the ginger with creased eyebrows.

 

     "What the fuck does that mean?"

 

     "Nothing, I guess," Ian spoke quietly and cleared his throat. He laid back down, ever so slightly closer to the older man. "I mean, I thought we've been over this? No. No, I'm not dating anyone," he whispered.

 

     "Have you ever? I mean, besides my sister? Like a real relationship?" He turned his attention back to the sky, too afraid to continue this conversation while looking at Ian's face. He kept his eyes on the dim stars, allowing them to calm him while he focused on Ian’s words, letting his voice ground him more than the stars.

 

     "Well, there's been a couple of guys who it wasn't always just sex with, like I thought there could be something more with, but it was always in the moment, ya know? Like with Kash. I'd feel things when we were next to each other or touching or whatever, but I hardly ever thought about him when I was anywhere else." Ian spoke so easily, he always did, and Mickey envied it. He's was getting better at it, at least around Ian, but he still had trouble getting his thoughts out sometimes. But, he loved when he could get them out and have real conversations with Ian.

 

     "Oh." It was all he could manage. Did Ian think about him when they weren't together? Was this just as one sided as Mickey had feared from the beginning? _Stop fuckin’ thinking so much._ Ian caught his attention when he was leaning over Mickey's body and shoving his hand down his right pocket. "They're in my back pocket," Mickey said, watching Ian's hand and rolling his hips to the left so Ian had easier access.

 

    "I'm not looking for condoms, jackass," Ian laughed, sending shivers down Mickey’s spine. Ian smiled down at him as he pulled Mickey's phone out. "I'm sick of all this 'show up here before this time if you can' shit," he spoke while he held the phone in front of Mickey's face so he could unlock it for him, which he did willingly. He typed for a minute and tossed it on the grass near Mickey's head, and lowered himself back down, laying on his stomach. "Now you can text me whenever you wanna meet up. Or, ya know, if you just wanna talk. I like talking."

 

     "Yeah, I know you do, shithead," Mickey laughed, and only laughed harder when Ian began wrestling with him. They rolled around for a while, laughing and breathing hard. Mickey loved it. At a certain age, Mickey and his brothers realized they couldn't act so childish. They had to start taking care of things and each other when their mom had passed and his dad was out doing God knows what. By the time Mickey was old enough to do things like wrestle with his brothers, he had already been forced out of childhood, and he was expected to abandon just childish acts. Plus, he never had many friends, so he missed out on things like this.

 

     This was probably different, though, he thinks. His heart and stomach probably wouldn't flutter as much if he were messing around with his brothers or just a friend. He probably wouldn't be laughing and smiling so hard, either. "Okay, okay! I surrender!" He laughed and stretched his arms out on either side, laying like a cross. Ian sits up and smiles at him. Always with that damn smile, making Mickey’s toes tingle and shit.

 

     "You like it when I talk. You like talking to me," Ian stated. He turned to lay down again, on his back. He's pressed right up against Mickey's body and was laying on his arm, warming it instantly. This is the shit that Mickey loved but didn’t know how to ask for. He brings his hand to its rightful place on Mickey's thigh. Mickey brought his right hand back underneath his head, but left his other outstretched, trying to physic himself up to touch Ian. "The bright side is we're not always sitting in an awkward silence."

 

     "Why do you do that?"

 

    "Do what?" Ian tilted his head to look up at Mickey, confusion clouding his face.

 

     "Always look on the bright side. Doesn't it get tiring? Doesn't it hurt your eyes?" Ian just laughs and rests his head on Mickey's shoulder, rolling to lay on his side a little.

 

     "They have a term for that I think. You're rose-colored, or you've got rose-colored glasses." Mickey finally lifted his left arm up to play with Ian's wrist that was poking out of his long sleeve, which still housed a litany of faded marker dicks. Gallagher moved their hands to rest on his stomach and opened his hand to intertwine their fingers, Mickey rubbing his thumb over the skin he could reach. It was the words 'rose-colored' that brought out this immense need to touch and hold Ian. Of-fucking-course the term most relating to Ian Gallagher would deal with something as red as roses. After all these years of associating the two, hearing it come from the man himself was almost reassuring. "It means you're an optimist and always think things are better than they are, or at least could be. That's why I look for bright sides. Cause I have to tell myself that things are better. I'm so used to things just being shitty that I started looking for the good things, ya know?"

 

     "Yeah..." Mickey trailed quietly, almost at a whisper, "I wish we were all Rose-colored, too. Shit would be easier." His head had lolled to the left so his chin bumped Ian's head. "Do you- I mean you probably don't, but do you remember the first time you talked to me?" He can see Ian's face scrunch slightly before turning into a smile.

 

     "During a little league game, yeah? After you started pissing on second," Ian laughed.

 

     "Mhm," Mickey hums back, "yeah, when I was fucking getting pulled off the damn field you yelled at me to look on the bright side." Mickey laughed and felt Ian scoot somehow even closer. "I, uh, I didn't stop thinking about that for a long time. I still haven't, actually. And then I kinda, like, formed this thing in my head. I don't know. Everything good and hopeful is in this little warm corner in my damn brain that's like this red, glowy light, like a damn neon sign. But, it's all fucking you. Like, most of the good things all relate to you somehow, but you're also that light. Like, all this time whenever I think of red I think of you, but I also think of you when I think of hope and shit. But, I think I just always think about you." Mickey had shut his eyes somewhere along his slightly regretted speech and held his breath waiting for Ian to say something.

 

     "Is it because I'm ginger?" He finally asked after what felt like forever, and he could just hear the smile on the fucks face. Mickey let out his breath in a dramatic sigh and rubbed his right hand over his face.

 

     "Yeah, okay, fuckhead. I just won’t tell you shit anymore." Ian pulled away and sat up, making Mickey frown deeper.

 

     "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just dismiss everything you said. I just know it's hard for you sometimes, to say heavy shit like that. I wanted to lighten the mood for you a bit." He sat on his heels and pulled Mickey's hand into his lap like the other man had done with his own hundreds of times before. He rubbed the tattoos, as always.

 

     "I don't want it to be so hard for me," Mickey said quietly, actually matching Ian's eye contact. "I want to be able to say the shit that's in my head but I just can't fucking blurt it out whenever I want." He sounded so small and he hated it, but Ian didn't make him feel bad for it. He never did. He loved that. He lov- nope. Not goin' down that road again.

 

     "That's okay, Mick, I get it. There's other ways, you know?" He lifted his head to look up towards the baseball field while he started listing ideas, rubbing Mickey's hand in his own two. "I can look away, like turn my back or close my eyes or something if you ever want to tell me something. Or you can write it down, or text it. Whatever's on your mind, however big or small, I'm here to listen, or read, or however you want to deliver the message. Fuckin’, do an interpretive dance, or sing to me." He was smiling down to him again. "What are you thinking about right now?"

 

     So many things. Mickey couldn't stop all the thoughts rushing through his head. He had such a slew of things he wanted to spill to Ian, and now would be the time. This was his moment. But, still, he didn't want things to be quiet and soft anymore. His ears were ringing from all the whispering and stillness of the night. He felt like if they didn’t pick up the pace, he was going end up revealing some dark secret or start crying. It must've been after midnight now and the streets were dead. He wanted to talk more to Ian about each other and their thoughts and all that shit, just maybe another time. Right now, though, he just wanted to feel Ian. "I wanna to do that thing you like," he says as he's sitting up. Ian's almost giddy, instantly.

 

     "Really? You hate it enough in a bed or on the couch, you really wanna do that out here?" Mickey was already pushing Ian back on the ground and straddling him. Ian laughed as he tumbled back into the cool grass, shimmying to get comfortable.

 

     "You're just worried because you're so damn white you think you're gonna get grass stains on your ass." Mickey rolls his eyes and scoots down to pull Ian's pants and boxers. He wants to take off all their clothes but their body temperatures had finally cooled off enough to realize it was pretty cold out. Mickey had felt Ian shiver a few times when they were laying down. It was nights like this when Mickey felt so guilty for dragging him out here when it was so freezing. They were getting into the heart of winter, it would start snowing any day now, then what would they do? They couldn't sit outside all season talking and fucking in the snow. He figures he could find a way around his family. Or, maybe there'd have to chance it with the Gallagher house more often, even though that was harder to deal with than his own. He'd have to figure something out because no way was he stopping this, especially not on account of the weather.

 

     "If I do, will you clean it for me?" Ian asks with his grin. Mickey's eyebrows raised and his tongue licked at the corner of his mouth.

 

     "We'll see, tough guy." He finally gets them both naked from the waist down and is slipping a condom he pulled out of his jeans onto Ian's erection. He leaned forward with one hand on Ian's shoulder while the other grabbed his dick, getting ready to lower himself down. "Hey, uhm," he froze and bit his lip, "while we're being all open about our fucking thoughts tonight, I really fucking like it when you hold my hips and thighs so if you could..." he trailed off and dipped his head like he was shy all of the sudden. Okay, okay, _because_ he was shy all of the sudden. Ian's hands were already running up the brunette’s legs to hold onto his hips.

 

     "Anything you want, Mick," he nods. Mickey lamely nods back and lowers himself onto Ian. He's still lose enough from earlier that night to not need any prepping, but tight enough to feel a slight stretch as he becomes fully seated in Gallagher's lap. They both let out shaky sighs, rejoicing in the stretch of Mickey. Mickey moves his hands so they're in the grass on either side of Ian's arms as he slowly begins moving. He takes it as slow as he can handle; dragging himself forward and pushing back at an agonizing pace. He loves the looks that form on Ian's face and the deep, throaty moans he lets out whenever things were so slow.

 

     It doesn't last long, though, because finally, Mickey can't take it any longer and starts picking up his speed, not even able to rock back all the way, because Ian's started lifting his hips to meet him half way. Mickey stares down at Ian, watches every muscle twitch, his eyes roll, his lips licked and bitten. It's in the moment that he quietly lets Mickey's name slip between wet lips that Mickey decides to do it. He decides to wait so it won't be taken as in-the-moment kind of thing, but he makes a plan.

 

     Mickey lets his mouth hang open as he stills his movements so Ian can fuck up into him on his own. He feels his mouth watering and his head bobbing and he thinks he's dribbling drool all over Ian's face but neither of them seem to care. Ian drops his hips back down to the grass and tries to catch his breath. Mickey leans down and rests his head in the crook of Ian's neck and begins rolling his body so he's practically grinding on Ian's body, earning sweet groans from the man. At the same time that Ian grabs Mickey's left hand and pulls it into his own hair, Mickey's grabbing Ian's left hand and bringing it up by the other side of their heads.

 

     In his right hand, Mickey's interlocked his fingers with Ian's, and his left hand he's roughly pulling on a fist full of rusty hair. Ian can't hold in his screams as the thrusting ensues once again, much faster this time, his voicing echoing back at them through the silent night’s air. Mickey's brain is fuzzy and all he can think about is the way, every way, Ian feels. The way he smells, and he deeply inhales his scent. The way he tastes, and he sucks and bites on the man’s neck. He loved leaving his mark on the pale skin now, and he never missed an opportunity. His ears are flooded with the sound of Ian's moans and cries but also his praises and 'so good, Mick, don't stop, fuck, Mickey, so fucking good'. He felt like a damn dog, but he didn't care. The praise made it all so much better.

 

     "Mickey- fuck, sit back up, Mickey," Ian tries between heavy panting. Mickey instantly obeys, always the obedient, pulling his hand from Ian's hair but keeps their hands connected. He starts bouncing as best he can without hurting Ian, while the ginger begins jerking him off. Neither of them seem to be able to hold on, and before either of them can realize or warn the other, they're both riding through their climaxes, eyes shutting only for a moment before meeting each other again. Mickey had covered a better part of Ian's chest in his cum and thinks it’s so fucking beautiful. He only wished he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and he could see his come running over the dips on Ian’s muscles.

 

     They slowly catch their breath, both too scared to move, that they'll break and fall about into little pieces if they do. Mickey lifts himself off Ian's limp dick eventually, but stays straddling him. He wipes his thumb through some of the cum and holds it out for Ian to suck clean, running his thumb along his bottom lip when he pulled it out. He decides now is the time to make his move.

 

     Mickey slides his hand over Ian's cheek until its under his ear; his fingers scratch the back of his head and his thumb rubs the side of his face. Ian probably knows what he's working up to do, but he stays quiet and lets him have some time. He just needs another minute. They're staring at each other and Ian's lips are parted. He can’t wait any more, doesn't want to. Mickey leans down and connects their lips. And, Mickey sees God. Mickey may not have been much of a ‘believer’, probably and atheist, if he thought about it, but he sees religion in Ian Gallagher and his lips.

 

     Ian is immediately kissing him back and he's got his hands on either side of Mickey's jaw, holding his face. When Gallagher slides his tongue into his mouth, Mickey easily returns the favor. They're holding each other and tasting each other and Mickey's gone. He's seeing stars, and not because he's looking up at the sky or at a certain man's freckles. They could've been doing this for months but he had made sure they didn't; his biggest regret. His body was warm and his heart was racing. He couldn't focus on anything else, but that didn't matter; he only wanted Ian.

 

     He doesn't know how long they've laid in the grass making out. Maybe it was morning now or the moon was in a new phase. Maybe the seasons changed and it's summer now because Mickey's never felt so warm before. He finally pulls back, needing to catch his breath. He keeps his eyes closed and rests his forehead on Ian's while they breathe heavily over each other's faces. Mickey wants to collapse onto Ian right now and never leave this spot, just stay with him and kiss forever. _That’s scary._

 

     "We're gonna catch fuckin' frostbite if we’re out here any longer," he whispers. Ian lifts his face to plant one more quick kiss onto the man’s lips before Mickey rolls off of him. Mickey pulls on his clothes on quickly and hands Ian his own but pulls them back and smiles wickedly. He pushes on Ian's hip to roll him away onto his side and grabs his ass, kneading it ever so slightly. "Hmm, just a little grass," he hums.

 

    Ian's laughing above him until it cuts off with a gasp and a moan when Mickey leans down to bite into the meaty flesh. He audibly kisses the mark before tossing Ian his clothes, admiring the spot until its covered. "There ya go, Peter Pan, green and red now."

 

     Ian sits up and faces Mickey. "Peter Pan, huh? He's ginger, too,"

 

     "Yeah and the fuckers probably red-colored or what- the-fuck-ever, too," Mickey says quietly, staring at Ian, both with a smile on their faces.

 

     "Rose-colored," Ian laughs lightly, "he's rose-colored, Mickey."

 

     "Yeah, well so are you." Mickey's hand finds Ian's cheek again and the redhead is leaning into the touch. "Just a couple of rose-colored boys," he says breathlessly. _My rose-colored boy_ , he thinks to himself. Ian just beams at him and it's disgustingly heartwarming. He leans forward, intent on kissing this guy as much as he can, when a light flashes on his face.

 

     "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" A man yells from the other side of the bushes.

 

     "Oh shit," both men curse and jump up, grabbing whatever belongings they can grab before running off. They're running fast down the streets and checking over their shoulder for the cop behind them. They're both laughing loudly and pushing and grabbing each other whenever they can. Mickey finally pulls Ian into an alley to catch their breath when he thinks they've lost the officer. "He didn't have to fucking chase us! We could've just been sitting in the damn grass!" Ian shouts, bent down with his hands on his knees, coughing slightly.

 

     "Yeah well, I think your cum-covered shirt was kinda a dead giveaway," Mickey laughed from his spot against the brick building. Ian straightens up and glares at him.

 

     "Oh, and who's fault is that? This is your jizz, Mick!" He gestures to his chest, and Mickey just shrugs with a smirk on his face.

 

     "Hey maybe if you didn't have to fuck me in such compromising positions we could've avoided this," Mickey's still laughing. Ian rolls his eyes and stands next to Mickey, sliding down so he's sitting on the ground. He rests his head against Mickey's left leg.

 

     "But what the fuck was he out patrolling a kid’s little league field this late for?" Ian asks, sounding annoyed.

 

     "You're always so god damn loud. Someone probably heard you screaming bloody fucking Mary and thought someone was being killed out there- ow! Jesus fucking Christ Ian!" Mickey shouts when Ian bites into his leg through his jeans. "Just tell me to shut the fuck up next time." Ian slowly stands up and punches Mickey hard in the arm with a heavy scowl on his face. "Fuck, Ian!" That just earns him another punch to the same spot. "Stop fucking hitting me! What the fuck did I do to you?" He shouts, rubbing his arm.

 

     "You never call me Ian and now you do twice in a row but only ‘cause I hurt you?" He looks mad, but not really mad. It was hard to place. Maybe sad?

 

     "Wh-what? You're hitting me because I called you your damn name?" Mickey is too confused to deal with Ian's dumb shit.

 

     "Why can't you just say my name in better circumstances?" Ian crosses his arms and glares at the man in front of him. Mickey holds back the laugh he knows will get him punched again. He pushes off the wall, walks forward and crowds the other man, resting his hands on his hips. Mickey walks Ian backwards so his back is pressed against the other alley wall. He lowers his head to kiss his neck.

 

     "Ian," he whispers. He moves up to kiss along his jaw. "Ian."  He keeps his voice light and breathy when he speaks into his ear, "Ian." He pulls back a bit to look at Ian's face; it's relaxed and his eyes have fluttered shut. Mickey leans down and hovers over Ian's lips before breathing out his name one more time and kissing him on the lips. It's open and a little messy but still sincere and caring. Mickey tries to tell Ian how bad he wants to just be with him through the kiss, and all he can hope is that the message was received.

 

     After a heavy make out shesh in the alley, the two decided to call it a night, both worn out from their night together. They walked together for a while, mostly in silence. Mickey kept looking around the completely deserted streets. He wanted so bad reach down and hold Ian's hand. Obviously, no one was around and it was unlikely anyone would show up, but he was still scared. Maybe Ian wouldn't even want to. But, he kept bumping their hands, and sometimes grabbing onto Ian's long fingers for a second, and Ian never tried to pull his hand away.

 

     The whole way home, all Mickey could think about what was how badly he wanted to get up the nerve to ask Ian about the two of them dating. He also really wanted to ask him to just come to his house for the night because he knew no one would be there but he struggled. Tonight was already so perfect, but it would really put him over the fucking moon if he could make all these things come true.

 

     They started slowing down as they came to Mickey's house, neither man wanting to leave the other. Mickey looked up and down the street, contemplating. When Ian turned to say goodbye to Mickey, the latter reached for his hand and stared pulling him into his yard, walking backwards, deciding he needed to just go for it. Every time Mickey had stepped out of his comfort zone with Ian and tried to be more confident in his actions, it _always_ came out well for him. "It's late Mick, I'm gonna be half asleep by the time I have to sneak home at this rate," Ian said, not making any move to really stop anything.

 

     "Then don't sneak home," Mickey said as he continued pulling his friend up the patio stairs and into the house. "I mean, no one’s here all weekend, so, I don't know, why don't you just stick around tonight?" He closed the door and finally dropped Ian's hand, who had the most shit-eating grin Mickey's ever seen plastered on his face. He hated it but also thinks he could stare at it for the rest of his life.

 

     "Was I just invited to a sleep over?"

 

     "Fuck you is what you were invited to," Mickey let out exasperatedly. He tried to walk past Ian but he pulled him back and pressed their bodies together, dipping his head to catch Mickey's lips.

 

     "You gonna be gentlemen and take me to your bed or what?" Ian smiled when he pulled away. Mickey rolled his eyes and turned away to head to his room. Ian draped his arms over the shorter man and walked behind him. When they were in the room, they stripped themselves down to their boxers and got under the blankets, laying on their backs and pressed to each other's side. They'd done this a million times before, lay in better naked together, but this was different, you could feel in the air that it was different. It didn't make Mickey as nervous as it should've, and that was probably more terrifying. The quiet was nice, but Mickey always had something he wanted to say to Ian.

 

     He grabbed Ian's left hand and rolled over onto his right side, pulling the tall boy with him so they could spoon. Ian got comfortable behind him and Mickey just continued holding his hand against his chest. Even though it was dark and Ian couldn't see his face, it was still easier for Mickey to confess things while was facing away. He took a moment to just relish in the heat and presence of Ian’s body behind him. Everything felt so perfect, and right. Like this is things were always meant to be.

 

     "I like it when your here," he said quietly. Ian pressed closer to him and leaned his forehead to the back of Mickey's head. "With me, I mean. I like it when you're close to me. You make things better and not seem so fucking shitty all the time. I think that _you're_ my bright side," he admitted into the darkness. He felt Ian kiss the back of his neck lightly.

 

     "What can I say? I _am_ your rose-colored boy," Ian whispered, like he could read Mickey's mind. Mickey let himself smile, and lifted Ian's hand to kiss it as his eyes drifted closed.

 

     "Mine. Yeah, I think I like that too," Mickey replied mostly to himself, squeezing Ian's hand. He hoped he was quiet enough that Ian didn't catch it, but he probably did. Maybe that was okay. The two men drifted off together, holding each other tightly. Mickey's dreams were filled with similar images. He saw the two of them waking up in each other's arms. He saw them walking down the street, hand-in-hand. He saw them out on a dinner date, and kissing each other as they walked into their shared apartment afterward. It was nice and beautiful and calming. Mickey has never felt more at peace in his whole life, nor has he ever slept as good as he had that night. It was good. So good.


	12. Chapter 12

**_ Chapter Twelve _ **

 

 

 

 

 

     But, all good things must come to an end, or so they say (and probably more so in the cynical world of Mickey Milkovich). And, fuck them for saying so, by the way. The sun had not begun to rise yet when Mickey had woken up. He doesn't know what it was that woke him but he couldn't even be mad about it, not with the sight he was blessed with. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Ian. A simple view, but it was enough to make him want to cry. Mickey had rolled over at some point in the night so he was now facing his sleeping ginger and he was still in his arms. Ian’s lips were parted and was pushing gentle breaths out onto Mickey’s face. His hair was covering his face and was a little ruffled on top. He just stared at his face until Ian pulled his arm back to scratch his face. He took this opportunity to go to the bathroom, pulling himself away from the work of art snoozing in his bed, for the sake of his stupid bladder. When he was done he came into the room, grabbing his phone as he headed back to sit at the end of the bed.

 

     Ian was beautiful, there was no way around that fact. He had moved around in the time Mickey was peeing and was now on his back with his arms up by his head on the pillow and the blanket just above his belly button. He had moved and pushed back his hair, so Mickey could see his whole face. His lips were even more parted now and every once in a while his eyebrows would crease. Mickey wanted nothing more in that moment than to look behind Ian's eyelids, into his brain, and see what he was dreaming about. What does Ian Gallagher dream of? Does he have dreams about things he wants to happen? Does he dream about random shit that no one would ever be able to understand, like talking dinner plates or something? Does he have nightmares? He hopes not.

 

                Mickey knows more than anyone what it’s like to have to suffer through nightmares, they’re almost all he has. They tore him apart and scared him, even when he tried to act like they didn’t affect him or even exist. He doesn’t want that for Ian, though. Ian had changed his nightmares to beautifully light dreams that he actually looked forward to. He couldn’t wait to drift to sleep at night, hoping, _praying,_ that he’d be met with Ian’s ethereal form, waiting for him with opened arms and a warm smile. He wanted to be able to do that for him. If he was having nightmares, he wanted to take those away from him, even if it meant giving them to himself. He’d take nightmares for the rest of his life over ever having Ian have to suffer like he does.

 

     The sun had begun to peak throw the window and hit Ian's pale torso. His freckles scattered almost every inch of his body, even if they had faded over the years. There’s still fair markings of pen from when Mickey drew on him, and he can’t help but smile. His skin really does look like an endless night sky, but better. Mickey doesn't think he's ever seen a more breathtaking sight. He pulled his phone out and snapped a few pictures of the sleeping giant for himself and gently crawled up the bed. He laid on his left side, propping himself up onto his elbow, and leaned over to trail kisses along Ian's face and neck. He’ll never get over being able to do this now.

 

     Ian began to stir a bit and covered his face with his arm, muffling something into his elbow. "What's that, mumbles?" Mickey laughed and began kissing Ian's chest lightly.

 

     "Most people set alarms or just don't wake up this early," Ian lifted his arm to speak but dropped it back on his face when he finished. Mickey had kissed and licked all the way down Ian's chest and stomach until he was sitting between his legs under the blanket, playing with his boxers. He didn’t care too much about waking Ian up, doesn’t feel as bad as he normally would, there’s more pressing matters.

 

     "Want me to stop?"

 

     "Fuck no," Ian breathed as Mickey started palming him through the thin fabric and pulled them down his thighs. He laughed at Ian's eagerness, warm breath hitting his increasingly erect cock. He really wanted to make a good show for Ian instead of the usual quick blow jobs he gives him. He licked the length of his dick a few times and blew over the wet spots. "Oh my god," Ian moaned lightly. Mickey just smiled and parted his lips to take in only the head. Ian doesn't seem to want to take the scenic view this morning, however, because he's reaching under the blanket and grabbing a fist of the dark hair to shove Mickey down onto his dick.

 

     Mickey's hums his laughter around Ian as he starts bobbing under the blanket, only causing Ian to squirm even more under him. He pulls out all the stops; playing with his tongue, humming and moaning, digging his nails into Ian's hips and thighs. Above him, Ian is a complete mess. He's moaning and groaning and cussing up a storm. He kept rutting his hips up to meet Mickey's mouth but every time he does, Mickey pinches the skin of his thighs between his nails, making the redhead stay still but also moan higher. He’ll have to remember that. Ian eventually throws the blanket over Mickey's head, who instantly looks up to meet his hooded gaze. Ian drops his hand from the raven hair to the pink cheek bone and rubs it under his thumb. All sense of urgency seems to leave his body the second Ian’s eyes meet Mickey’s. Mickey hears and sees his breath hitch, sees a slight twinkle in his eyes that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. He definitely would’ve fucking remembered _that_.

 

     It doesn't take much longer for Ian to cum down Mickey's throat, and when he does, the latter just takes it and his eyes never falter from Ian's face. Mickey rises from Ian’s crotch with a string of spit, and Ian moves his thumb to run it across the brunette's lower lip before pushing it into his mouth for a moment. Mickey lifts up more and climbs up Ian's body to kiss him deeply, after pulling his boxers back on.  He can’t help himself, he just needs to kiss him, but he doesn’t ever want to stop. He hopes Ian can taste himself on his tongue and lips and also all of Mickey's thoughts and feelings for the man under him. When he pulls away he smiles down at him and whispers, "good mornin’, sleepyface."

 

     "Morning, sunshine," Ian beams back. Mickey rolls his eyes and falls back onto the bed to Ian's right. Both men pushed themselves further into the mattress, sighing happily when they finally got comfortable. "Want me to do something for you?" He asks as he turns to lay on his side instead and runs his hand up and down Mickey's thigh. _Yes_ , Mickey thought. But, he still shook his head. Getting a blow job from Ian was still hard for him (and not in the way it should be) since his dream months ago. He rarely let Ian blow him because he was so worried about the consequences. He was getting better with it though. He kept telling himself nothing would actually ever happen, Terry wasn’t going to catch them. He was slowly starting to believe it. He felt bad because Ian would always get that sad look on his face that he'd get whenever Mickey did something stupid, but he couldn't tell Ian about the dream.

 

     "No, it's cool. We've got all day." He reaches down for the freckly hand that's camped out on his hip now, and brings it up to his mouth to kiss it. "Fuckin' tired though. Way too fucking early.” Ian rolled his eyes with a huge smile on his face.

 

“You’re the one who woke me up, remember?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Wanna go back to sleep for a bit?" He rested Ian's hand onto his stomach to keep them touching and looked at him. How many times can he look at Ian before he stops taking his breath away?

 

     "Yeah, okay," he smiled back, dragging his fingers lightly over Mickey's milky skin. He settled back down and rested his forehead on Mickey's shoulder, keeping his hand on his stomach. Mickey kissed the top the ginger head next to him and melted into Ian before they were both lightly snoring. He could get used to waking up like this. This is all he wanted anymore.

 

 

⁂

 

 

     The second time Mickey wakes up, Ian was not in his bed. He stops himself from focusing too much on the slight panic that is rolling through his body and gets out of bed to search for the ginger. He looked in his bathroom, stopping to pee again in the process, but eventually found Ian in the kitchen over the stove in nothing but his boxers, like this was his fucking house or something. He hadn't heard the shorter man walk into the room, so Mickey came to stand right behind him, resting his chin on his shoulder. "The fuck are you doing,” he asked, his voice still low and thick with sleep.

 

     "You wouldn't fucking wake up and I was getting hungry," Ian said lightly while he pushed scrambled eggs around a pan. The way Ian leaned back into Mickey’s body did not go unnoticed. Ever since their first kiss out in the grass, Mickey felt like not only did he never want to stop touching and kissing this man but his feelings of wanting to do more and be more with him had intensified. He kept seeing his walls break down with Ian. He smiled more when he was around, almost never wore his usual scowl whenever Ian was close. He wanted to try to be more than fuck buddies who are occasionally just buddies but he also didn't really want to have _that_ talk. He figured the only way he could get his point across to Ian was to do little things that only couples would do. And, all he could do is hope Ian wasn't a complete idiot and took the hint.

 

     Mickey placed his hands on Ian's hips, slowly and almost unsure of his movements, and slid them to his bare stomach so he was more or less hugging him from behind. Okay, okay, he _was_ hugging him from behind but mind your own damn business. They're both in nothing but their boxers and the warmth of Ian's back felt amazing on Mickey's front. "Was fuckin' tired, I told you," he whispered into Ian's neck. The latter just hummed. Whatever this was, he loved it. "You gonna make me some?"

 

     "You gonna be nice?" Ian tilted his head a little to the left.

 

     "I'm a fucking peach I don't know what you're talking about."

 

     "You certainly bruise like one," Ian murmured. Mickey scoffed and bit down on the right side of Ian's neck where his face already was, making Ian jump.

 

     "You fucking do too," Mickey said and kissed the spot he just assaulted. "And you made a fucking mess in my damn kitchen." Ian looked down at the spilled eggs he had tossed out of the pan when Mickey scared him.

 

     "What are you gonna do? Punish me?" Ian turned in Mickey's arm to look down at the man. "Gonna spank me?"

 

     "Oh, fuck off," Mickey rolled his eyes, but didn't let go of Ian. He wanted to, but he went against his instincts because he also wanted to keep touching him, and that would always trump the feeling of embarrassment. He looked away from Ian, feeling his cheeks heat with a faint blush.

 

     "But I've been bad, Mick. How will I ever learn if you don't discipline me?" He simultaneously smirked and gave wide, falsely-innocent eyes. Mickey just rolled his own eyes harder and finally let go of Ian.

 

     "Okay, firecrotch," Mickey laughed as he backed away and moved to open the fridge. Between the moan inducing pinches from the blow job earlier and now this, Mickey was very interested. When he was alone, his mind would wonder and there had been a few times where he actually went about searching for these sexual fantasies he’d have, not to mention _the box_. What were Ian’s? He rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip and looked at Ian shyly. _Fuck it._ "What other fucking kinks you got in your pocket, huh?"

 

He'd really had that question in his head for a long fucking time now, maybe before they even started actually sleeping together. Mickey had his own kinks and things he'd wanted to try with someone (Ian), but he really wanted to know if Ian had similar desires and thoughts. What if they had the same ones? He held out hope. "Wouldn't you like to fuckin' know?" Ian turned back to the stove to clean and plate the eggs.

 

     "I fucking asked didn't I?"

 

     "I don't know," Ian sighed and walked the two plates to the dining table, "a few small things but nothing too crazy I guess." Mickey pulled a carton of orange juice and a bottle of ketchup from the fridge and sat cross from the ginger at the table. He doesn't know when they got so domestic, or how one night would change things this much, but Mickey actually loved it. They kiss once, and all of the sudden they looked like a married couple- nope. Not that. That actually _is_ too much. Mickey could never marry anyone, and even Ian fucking Gallagher couldn’t change that.

 

     "Like what?" He raised his eyebrows, not as high as usual, but enough to be noticed. Ian rakes his fork through his food, moving it around, and tilted his head from side to side in thought, like he always did.

 

     "Small pain stuff, ya know, like, biting and scratching and hair pulling. Things that'll make me or him bleed or bruise a bit. I like control a lot too. Those toys where one person gets a vibrator or whatever and the other gets a remote. Or tying them down? Tame stuff like that, I guess." Ian looked up from his plate to meet Mickey's gaze, who quickly looked down and shoved a fork full of eggs into his mouth. He started this, he knows, but now he has the image of Ian tying him down and making him beg to have Ian fuck him and it’s just a lot. "And what about you?" Mickey almost choked at that.

 

     "Oh, uhm, ya know, same, I fuckin' guess..." he trailed off, heavily avoiding green eyes. He didn’t think he could do this now. He could build himself in his head all he wanted to and pretend that he had a solid plan when it came to Ian, but truth was, he still just made him nervous. Ian was still basically his _crush,_ even with how much he hated that damn word. They were just fuckin, really. The kissing didn’t matter, the secrets and life stories didn’t matter, because, at the end of the day, Ian could walk out of Mickey’s life and find him someone worthy of being his boyfriend.

 

But, isn’t that just what he’s tried so hard to get away from? A life of thinking he wasn’t enough for everyone, and living under his father’s thumb, wasn’t he ready to take his life back? And, wouldn’t being with Ian be the way to do it? The guy he practically hasn’t stopped thinking about since childhood. He could be with him, be happy, be free. That’s all he’d ever wanted; freedom and Ian. Ian stared at Mickey and kicked his leg under the table lightly with his bare foot, breaking through his thoughts.

 

     "Tell me," Ian's voice is soothing but still strong. Mickey already really did want Ian to know but he just had trouble getting it out. Things were always so much easier in his head. On the outside, he was still that menacing looking boy who scared the whole neighborhood. He was a man of few words who didn't want anyone near him or talking to him or looking at him. But, in his head and how he really felt wasn't like that, at least not all the time. A lot of the time he did feel the same as he portrayed himself; he didn't want to hang out with people or talk to them, he wanted to be feared. It was really just one person who ever changed that in him. And, as much as he wanted to tell Ian and as much as he liked being around him; he hated it.

 

     He didn't want to break down his walls. His walls kept him safe. He didn't want to turn into a softie for some red headed prick, but he did. He didn't want to give himself up to Ian like he kept finding himself doing but he just couldn't help it. He used to think when Ian was gone, that he wouldn't mind trying to not think about him, he thought he even wouldn't mind never seeing the guy again. But, that didn't last; the second he saw, heard, or even thought about the man he was suddenly okay with being open and different. Mickey didn't know if the version of him affected by Ian was his real self or just a dumb, distracted side of him who was just clouded by sex and positive attention. He must've been spacing out in real time with his thoughts, though, because he felt Ian kick him again and his head snapped up.

 

     "What?" He asked, slightly dazed.

 

     "I want to know your kinks still." Ian began rubbing his foot against Mickey's leg and the latter had coughed and took a swig of juice from the carton to hide the fact he was flustered. This was so much. Almost too much. Why was he so weak against Ian?

 

     "I don't fucking know," he started when he put the juice down, "the stuff you said, I guess. I, uh, I’ve got some of my own stuff, like just a box of shit I keep in my room. Beads and shit. Uhm, and like, I don't know, I've looked some stuff up a couple times, like online and just fucking fell down a damn rabbit hole and I guess I've got some kind of praise thing like I'm a fucking dog or something. Which is fucking dumb that that's a specific fucking kink because who the hell doesn't like being told they're good and shit, ya know?" _God damn it_. He blushed and cleared his throat, looking down at his food.

 

     "You like being told you're a good boy, huh?" Ian cocked an eyebrow up and titled his head the side a bit. Mickey’s stomach drops and his face drops back to the table.

 

     "Oh, fuck off, Jesus Christ," he huffed, and moved to get up from the table. Ian reached his hand out to grab him by the arm and keep him seated.

 

     "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, stay here, grumble grump," he laughed, "I like it, I think it's cute and hot."

 

     "Yeah whatever," Mickey grumbled, not actually calmed by the words. It still just felt like Ian was making fun of him. Ian pulled his hand back away from Mickey but left it open in the middle of the table while they ate in silence for a few minutes.

 

     "So, ya gonna show me anything from your special box?"

 

     "Maybe," he said almost under his breath. He really did want to share this with Ian but it was also nerve wracking. He'd never be able to tell people about that box; did he really think he'd be able show it off to a guy he's been obsessing over for years?  Maybe he didn't have to show him the whole box, maybe he could just take one or two things out every once in a while, to test the waters. He barely had time to agree to his own compromise when his mouth took control over the situation. "Can we try something out today?" Both boys looked up at each other with wide eyes, neither expecting Mickey to say anything at all, let alone ask to spice things up.

 

     "Yeah, totally. Like what?" Mickey's mind started racing. He had to pick something but didn't know where would be a good place for them to start. Why the hell did he even say anything? He should’ve just kept his damn mouth shut. He decided to go with the beads since he already outed himself by talking about them specifically.

 

     "It'll be a surprise. Clean up the food and wait on the couch," Mickey ordered and they both jumped up so fast the table almost flipped. Mickey headed into his room and went to his closet. He reached as far back as he could with his foot to try to find the shoe box somewhere under all the junk. He finally found it and slid it out and opened it up. When Mickey found the long, black string of balls, he buried the box back under the clothes and other random shit that came in handy for hiding things, and pushed it as far back into the corner of the closet as it would go.

 

     He played with them for a moment, running them through his fingers. He could feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach and his heart racing. This was going to be a big deal, maybe not for Ian, but definitely for Mickey himself. What if these beads were too weird for Ian? Or he hated it and never wanted to do it again? What if they made him look at Mickey differently and he didn't want to fuck him or hangout with him anymore? Mickey felt himself starting to freak out and shake, the beads were clattering in his hands.

 

     This would be it. This could very easily be a tipping point for them, and Mickey had to make a decision for one way or another. If Ian wasn't going to react well, that would be the end of this; he'd be able to be mad at Ian and tell him to fuck off and stop seeing him. He’s be so hurt and broken that he would be able walk away easily. And, he'd do everything he could to avoid Gallagher and not think about him, even if he had to do all of his dads runs from now on or just get himself locked up for long enough. But, he would not keep this going if Ian was going to make him feel like shit for it.

 

     In such a short time, Ian had become a safe place for Mickey. He was different around Ian, but better. He was happier and more willing to step out of his comfort zones. Ian Gallagher felt more like love, a friend, family, and a home than anything Mickey has ever experienced. He doesn't actually know how he'd feel if he started being an asshole to him for this. He doesn’t actually know how easily it would be to leave, even if he thinks he could.

 

     But, if he's okay with it or even likes it or just fucking accepts it and lets it happen because Mickey asked for it, he wouldn't be able to stay away. He'd pull together every confident fiber in his being and have _the talk_ with Ian. Tell him his feelings, that he wants to be with him. Nothing would ever be wrong in Mickey's life ever again if he was Ian Gallagher's boyfriend. He took a deep breath and headed out of his room, grabbing lube from his bedside table on his way out. _You can do this._ He kept his hands behind his back as walked around the couch to stand in front of Ian, who was seated in the middle cushion. "What did you bring me," Ian asked as he tipped his head back to look up at Mickey. He handed Ian the lube and bit his lip. _You can do this._

 

     "It's more for me, I guess, I figured we could start somewhere easy?" Mickey said before Ian could question the lube. He just nodded instead, dropping the lube in his lap and sliding his hands to the backs of Mickey's bare knees. He sat quietly and waiting for more information. _You can fucking do this._ Mickey took another deep breath and pulled his hands in front of him, holding the clacking beads down for Ian to see. "They're Ben Wa balls. You just, you shove 'em up my ass and pull 'em out real slow." He felt a blush creeping over his cheeks. His heart was racing and he was holding his breath. Ian made an unpleasant face. _Oh no._

 

     "How is that fun for me?" He asked, looking up at Mickey. Mickey's face and stomach both dropped. _Of course_. How could he have been so fucking stupid? He pulled his arms into himself and started to back away, but Ian moved his hands up to Mickey's hips and pulled him back into his space, so fast he almost fell over. "I was joking. I'm sorry. It'll be fun for me because it'll be fun for you. That's all that matters." Ian pulled the balls out of Mickey's hands and examined them himself. Mickey just watched, too scared to move or talk. Was Ian actually okay with this or did he just not want to miss out on a fuck? "It'll probably be really fucking hot, actually." Mickey smiled at Ian and sighed in relief.

 

     "Yeah? You think so?"

 

     "Mhm, and I'll get to tell you how hot you are and how good you take it, I know you'll love that." Ian stood up and kissed Mickey deeply on the lips, lube falling to the ground. "You gonna tell me what to do?" Ian asked when he pulled away. Mickey just nodded and tossed the beads on the couch and the pair began pulling down their boxers, ready to get going. Mickey faced Ian and began kissing him again, he had to. He was so overcome with a sense of relief and happiness and something else that he _knew_ but was too scared to admit. He didn’t ever want to be away from Ian. No one, _nothing_ has ever made Mickey feel this _good_. He feels like he’s flying. Or falling. He doesn’t know the difference. Yet.

 

     "You're gonna wanna finger me first like usual, and then lube the shit out of a couple of the balls. You'll just push one in at a time, when I'm ready, okay? And I'll tell you when I'm done and when to start pulling them out." Ian just nodded. "And maybe I'll let you fuck me afterwards," Mickey smiled cheekily. He was feeling looser now, more free. He could take anything that was going to get thrown at him. Ian cocked an eyebrow up.

 

     "Oh, you'll let me fuck you, huh? Didn't know your ass was so hard to come by now." He reached down and grabbed two hand fills of Mickey's ass and kneaded them.

 

     "I said maybe. Come on, get on me already." Mickey wiggles his eyebrows once and turned around to climb on the couch. He stood on his knees and hung over the back of the couch like he usually did when they fucked out in the living room. But, this time was different then all those other times. This wasn’t just about the toys, either, not for Mickey. This was something big. He’d have everything he’d ever wanted when they were finished. Ian came up behind him and spanked him on the ass. Mickey jumped in surprise and looked behind his shoulder at the grinning ginger. "What the fuck was that for?"

 

     "Your sass," Ian shrugged. He bent down and wetly kissed the warm red spot. Mickey just scoffs.

 

     “What, no ass puns?”

 

     “Nah, not this time,” Ian whispered, bending down again to suck on the red spot on his ass.

 

     "Yeah, well, okay. You uh, don't have to stop," Mickey huffed and turned to face forward again, biting his lip to hold in the moan he wants to let out. Mickey didn't like when he couldn't see Ian when they fucked, but he figured it would be worth it this time. Especially considering he may get to make this an actual relationship afterwards. Ian spanked him a couple more times, all in the same spot, and Mickey was already moaning. He finally heard the lube pop open and Ian squirting some into his hand. He rested his head in his folded arms as Ian slid a finger inside and breathed loudly.

 

     "Feels good?" Ian asked as he picked up speed and ran his other hand all over Mickey's back.

 

     "Yeah- fuck, keep going," Mickey moaned. He felt his whole body relax instantly has Ian leaned down to kiss his back. This was something he could do for the rest of his life; be with Ian. Being with him was easy. And, for the first time in his life, Mickey can't wait for Ian to finish fucking him, so he can finally talk about them. Ian hadn't gotten his second finger more than half way in Mickey when the front door swung open.

 

     Both of the boys froze and looked up to the see who it was. In that one second, everything in Mickey is torn down and set on fire. He was cold and felt like a shell of a shadow. Mickey doesn't think he's ever moved so fast in his life when his brain finally connects what the fuck is happening. Ian jumped away from the couch and Mickey stood up, grabbing any clothing and covering himself.

 

     None other than Terry Milkovich stood frozen in the still open door. His eyes were wide and his breathing was increasing in speed. Mickey didn't dare look back at Ian, he just needed to get the boy out of here as quickly and safely as possible. That’s all he can think about right now; Ian’s safety and his own inevitable death. "Dad-" Mickey tried, but was immediately cut off when his father slammed the door shut and lunged at him. He heard Ian yell something but couldn't make out what as his head hit the wooden floor. Terry was sitting on top of him and punching him repeatedly. Everything was happening too fast for Mickey to keep up with.

 

     Everything felt like it was in slow motion, and that only made it more painful. He thinks this whole thing could last no more than twenty minutes, but at the first punch, it already feels like it's been hours. Mickey didn't bother trying to fight back, he always knew it was a lost cause. The back of his head was pounding from the fall, and he could feel his face pulsating under the skin. He knew he was bleeding like mad, he knew he was probably starting to bruise already. He felt one of his eyes begin to swell and just closed his eyes.

 

     How could he have let this happen? What was his dad doing home already? Mickey didn't know when Terry was getting out, but he didn't think it was going to be so soon, or, maybe it wasn't so soon. Maybe he had just been so caught up in Ian the past couple months, he hadn't even realized time was passing. This ruined everything. Even if both Ian and Mickey made it out of this beating alive, he didn't know what he was going to do after. He wouldn't be able to see Ian anymore. He wouldn't be able to peacefully live in his house anymore. Could he run away? Would his dad go looking for him if he did? If he didn't, if he could escape under Terry's nose, could he bring Ian? Would he come with him? He couldn’t.

 

     Everything about Mickey felt fuzzy. He felt like he was slipping out of consciousness and he was as heavy as lead on the cold wood floor. He’d been beaten by his dad so many times he’s lost count, but never this bad, and he knew it was only the beginning. He could faintly hear Ian's voice again and he tried to focus on it, like the red light in the darkness. Always that damn light. That damn man. Damn Ian. He sounded like he was yelling at Terry to stop, to leave Mickey alone. Mickey would've laughed if he could. _Of course_. The optimistic fuck _would_ think _Mickey Milkovich_ was worth going against Terry for and trying to save.

 

     The punches didn't seem to lighten up but they didn't last long anyway, which worried Mickey even more. If Terry’s attention wasn’t on him, it was on Ian. He opened his eyes and saw Terry was on Ian now. He had him pinned on the couch and was just beating the ever-living _shit_ out of him. That's all Mickey needed to find his strength. "Don't fucking touch him!" Mickey gathered every last bit of energy he had and fueled it with the anger boiling over. He jumped up and launched himself on his dad's back, doing everything he could to get him off of Ian, who he couldn't even look at yet, too scared of what he'd see. He punched and pulled and bit and pinched. He couldn't stop screaming either. "Get the fuck off him!" Terry finally pushed back on Mickey and stood up, leaving Ian a forgotten heap on the couch.

 

     Mickey was so scared for Ian. He didn't look at his face but his body was unmoving. _No._ Every bad picture and thought he'd ever had about Terry beating the life at out of Ian came rushing back. It was so much worse to see it live in the bloodied, beaten flesh. His hands began to shake more; half from the angry towards his father and half from the anxious feeling of thinking Ian would never stand up from the spot on the couch, he'd never move again. "You son of a fucking bitch," Mickey gritted.

 

     He readied himself to attack again just before his dad pulled a pistol out of the waistband of his jeans, stopping him in his tracks. _Of fucking course_. He cocked the gun and pointed it right at his son's head. "I get outta jail just come back to my god damn son getting fucked in the ass on my fucking couch like some kind of faggot?" Terry was slowly gaining on Mickey until the son was backed against the front of the other couch. If Terry shot Mickey, would Ian make it out alive? Or would he kill him too?

 

     He chanced a look past his dad and saw his body still unmoved. His heart was racing even more and he began to shake in panic. This wasn't good. Ian looked like he was fucking dead, and Mickey was being held at gun point. He needed to get to Ian, to see if he was breathing, but there was just no way. He couldn't take his eyes off the motionless body, he never wanted to look away from Ian again. He was scared the boy may just disappear if he didn't keep his eyes on him. His vision began blurring from the tears the were beginning to well in his eyes. He needed to get his dad to back off, though. He brought his eyes back to his dad, pleadingly, hoping something convincing would just spill out of his mouth if he just started talking.

 

     "Dad I-" his mouth felt wet and heavy with blood and his tongue had started to swell. Terry didn't care.

 

     "Shut the fuck up!" Terry screaming. He towered over Mickey, and the boy has never felt so small in his life, not even standing next to Ian, who actually was taller than his Terry. He's seen his father in so many fights and has been on the wrong end of so many of his tempers, but he's only seen this face a handful of times; this was the face Terry wore moments before killing someone.

 

     He's so sure he's about to be shot square in the face, he says goodbye to Ian in his mind. He thinks that maybe if he yells loud enough in his head everything he's wanted to tell Ian and how much he means to him, the boy will hear it. He tells Ian he's sorry, that he wished he could fix this. That it was his fault and he should've protected him. He tells him how great the past months have been and that he'd never give them up. He tells him he just fucking wanted to be with him. He tells him he lo-

 

     Before he had a chance to have any real reaction to Terry's words, the oldest Milkovich was hitting Mickey in the face and head with the gun. He's never felt anything like the cold metal of a gun breaking into his skull. It feels like his head really is cracked open, his soft brains exposed to the world. Everything is pulsating and probably bleeding. He can feel the warm blood running down his head and face. He can see it when he looks down at the pools that have appeared in his hands and lap. Everything slows down even further. Nothing makes sense anymore. He can’t understand what his dad is saying (screaming) and he can’t see properly.

 

     After the first three blows, Mickey loses all feeling. He had collapsed back onto the couch and just held out for as long as he can. Eventually his eyes roll into the back of his head everything goes dark. He tries to fill the darkness with his own imagery of literally anything, but he just hasn't the brain power. After he completely loses sight of what's going on, he can only here the front door open and close before he passes out wholly. There was no way Ian was even alive anymore. He still hadn’t moved or made any noise. He’s just gone. Maybe they’ll meet again in a few minutes in some other world. A world that Ian wanted to see; a happy, peaceful world they could just live and have fun. Together.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning:  
> rape, suicidal thoughts
> 
> (sorry for the late warning for this chapter, i meant to put one up when i posted this chapter, but it completely slipped my mind, but thank you to Notthefirst for reminding me of my mistake!)

**_ Chapter Thirteen _ **

 

 

 

 

 

     Mickey feels himself waking up for the third time today at the sound of the front door slamming again. He hopes and prays that this time, everything he remembers before dozing off was just a sick, fucked up dream. Maybe he hadn’t even woken up at all today. Maybe the past however many months was all in his head, too. Nothing happened, he just took a long nap was going to wake up in his bed, alone, and probably miserable, never having knowing what it was like to know and be with Ian Gallagher. _Ian_.

 

     He kept his eyes closed while he pictured instead, the scene he was _hoping_ to wake up in. Comfy and cozy in his own bed, Ian wrapped tightly around him. He would wake Ian up and tell him they should get out of here, go for a walk or maybe go get breakfast from a diner. Maybe he'd finally just take him to Mexico and they wouldn't have to come back. Get them out of harm’s way. Anything but stay here. His cold, aching body held him back from believing that too deeply.

 

     His eyes finally flutter open when he feels his head pounding to the point of it being unbearable. His brain and body all feel like mush and slush. He feels like he going to be sick. Maybe he just hit his on the headboard last night or has a standard headache. Maybe he was just hungover? Even though he doesn’t recall drinking. He's appalled by what he sees when his eyes focus.

 

     Ian is sitting on a chair on the left of the couch Mickey is still sitting on. He's staring back at him and he's never looked so broken. He doesn’t look as bad as he thought, or even as bad as Mickey feels. He sits up a little when he notices Mickey looking at him, whether from excitement or relief that he’s alive or nervousness at what he knew was coming next, Mickey never found out. Most of Ian’s blood has dried and bruises are already starting to form. He looks sick and empty and Mickey hates it. But, he's alive. _Ian’s alive._ He lets his eyes drift closed for a second while he takes in a deep breath. Ian's alive. How bad could things really be?

 

     On his right, Terry had brought in a chair from the kitchen table and was sitting in it, gun pointed to Ian, eyes on Mickey. He freezes and his heart stops. Any wrong move from here on out and Mickey would lose Ian forever. All the Gallaghers would lose him. This whole disgusting world would lose Ian Gallagher and that wasn't fucking fair because Ian was a bright light in bleak times. If Mickey had to disappear and was gone forever, who fucking cared? Ian was supposed to be here, though. Ian was meant to be walking this earth, shining his smile at people, making people happy the way he made Mickey happy. Ian had purpose and love and a family. Ian was good, _so_ fucking good.

 

     “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Terry seethes, breaking the deafening silencing that was bringing a ringing to Mickey’s ears. He tries to keep up with Terry’s words but he’s still a little foggy and groggy. What was wrong with him? What _was_ wrong with him? Besides the fact that he feels brain dead, he had been so caught up in a fucking guy to realize what he was doing to both of them. He ruined Ian’s life probably. His eyes kept slipping in and out of focus, but he could still see the murder written on his father’s face.

 

     “I-I don’t-“ Mickey slurred, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have been able to get any more words out, anyway.

 

     “You think I’m gone so you can do whatever the fuck you want? Think you can bring your little fags in _my_ house and fuck on _my_ couch?” Terry pulled the gun back to scratch his chin before standing up and walking over to Ian. Mickey starts panicking, but can’t actually do anything. He felt his hands clenching into fists. He’s so fucking mad and wants to stop whatever’s about to happen, but the fact the he can’t move only builds that anger in him.

 

     His heavy head rolls along the back of the couch, trying to keep his out-of-focus eyes on Terry’s moving form. He can see Ian go frigid when the man comes to stand behind him and he wants to comfort him. Hug him, hold him, squeeze his hand, kiss him. He wants to tell him everything will be okay; maybe if he says it enough it’ll be true. He puts his hands on Ian’s shoulders and continues to stare down his son. “Do I gotta kill the fag,” he lifts his empty hand to grab a fist of Ian’s red hair and forcibly shakes his head, “or you,” he points the pistol right at Mickey, “to make this shit fucking stop?” _No, no._

 

     “Y-you can’t ki-kill him,” Mickey tried. His mouth was still heavy and thick, much like his head, but he was starting to come around. He wants to run up and grab Ian and get the hell out of there. He can’t even lift his head, though. His dad wouldn’t _really_ kill them, would he? Mickey has to think he wouldn’t, that it would be too much work to clean and hide. He’d just had to hope that was actually the case.

 

     “No? Gotta kill my own fucking kid, huh?” Terry shrugs his shoulders and steps around Ian to stand in front of Mickey’s slouching form. He hated this, hated the hold his father had over him. He ddin’t want this shit anymore. He opened his mouth, planning to fight back as best he can, only having words as his ammo, and very little at that. He was feeling a surge of fight in him and he was going to use it to get him and Ian out of this mess as best he could. Or, so he thought.

 

     “Don’t touch him,” Ian said quietly, but with so much heat and anger behind it, he might as well had screamed. Mickey’s breath caught in his throat and he moved his eyes past Terry’s looming figure to Ian, who was sitting on the edge of the chair, slowly raising, making to stand up. _Fuck_. He could feel it now, that thing he was trying to run from for months. He felt it for Ian right now, but he still had to push it down, but he’d let it linger for a moment. He wanted to scream to Ian to just get the fuck out, he knew this wasn’t going to be good. No one went against Terry Milkovich unless they had a death wish.

 

     “What?” Terry bit and looked over his shoulder. Mickey didn’t even have time to react, think of what could happen, or move his eyes off Ian.

 

     “Don’t. Fucking. Tou-“ Terry rounded on Ian and backhanded him across the face so hard, he was leaning over the arm of the old chair for a moment till he came back to his senses. The mist and fog in Mickey’s head was starting to dissipate even more now; he could think better and see clearer. He sat up on the couch more, not risking standing yet, but bringing himself up more. If he wanted to fight before-

 

     “Leave him the fuck alone. _You_ don’t fucking _touch_ him. It’s not gonna happen again,” Mickey choked out, having found his speech again. Terry turned to him and laughed, actually _laughed_. Well that couldn’t be a good sign. The feeling and need to puke right there had come back, even worse now. Mickey was struggling to keep it down.

 

     “Damn right it won’t. This is _my_ house and you’re _my_ fucking son. You’re not gonna go out fucking guys. Not so long as I’m alive, and you can better your faggotty ass that I’m gonna out live you.”

 

     “Fat fucking chance,” Mickey spat under his breath. Terry had heard him, though. He stepped closer to the couch and lifted the gun. Mickey held his breath as the pistol was slowly pressed to the center of his forehead. He kept his eyes steadily on Terry, but wanted so fucking bad to look back at Ian. He could see the redhead rising from the chair. Was he stupid? What did he think he was going to do? What _could_ he do? Terry just pursed his lips and stared Mickey down harder.

 

     “I’m not gonna kill ya,” he said quietly, dropping the gun, like he was doing them a favor. He took a step back, making Ian fall back into the chair before the man noticed his movements. “Don’t need people running their mouths and askin’ shit.” He tilted his head to the side and moved his eyes between the two battered teens as he found his way back to the chair he had been sitting in before. He nodded to something behind Mickey, but he didn’t dare turn around to see at what. He finally caught sight of the something, or someone, when a thin, naked woman in heavy makeup made her way around the couch. She looked just as scared as Ian looked and Mickey felt. She stopped in front of Mickey, looking him up and down nervously, and turned to Terry.

 

     "He is only boy," she spoke in a thick Russian accent, Mickey almost didn't understand. Terry just pointed the gun at her instead. The woman’s body stiffened and she turned back to Mickey. Mickey caught on quickly enough to what was happening, and felt the bile in his stomach raising even faster now. There was no way he could go through this, no way. He sat up further on the couch and just suddenly started puking right on the ground in front of him, even on the woman’s feet through her open-toed heels. He tried to stop, but every time he caught his breath, he just started heaving again. This was just too fucking much for him. The woman had jumped back to avoid the splash zone, and Ian scooched to the edge of the chair to get closer to Mickey. Terry hadn’t to care at all, just watched on with annoyance.

 

     “Mick, are you okay,” Ian asked when Mickey was just dry heaving and coughing, his stomach completely empty. He spoke so softly, with so much care and affection, it just Mickey want to start puking again. Mickey couldn’t lift his gaze from his own vomit to look at him, couldn’t even find words to say. Just chuckled darkly, wincing at the way his throat burned. Was he okay? _Fuck no._ He was lucky to be alive, sure, but now? Now he was going to be-

 

     "You're going to fuck the fag out of him," Terry said menacingly, clearly over the whole puking ordeal. How high was the man right now? He pointed the gun back at Ian, "and you're going to watch. And then you're going to stay the fuck away from my kids or I'll bash your skull in till you're nothing but fucking mush and bone." Mickey fell back into the couch. What the fuck was happening right now.

 

     Mickey's head rolled back again to stare at Ian who held his eye contact until the Russian women straddled Mickey on the couch. She didn’t seem to need any more prompting from a gun to get her job done and pulled his dick out from his boxers. He closed his eyes for a moment, clenching them tightly while the women slid onto his soft dick. He hated this. Mickey felt disgusted. _Disgusting_. He didn't want to touch the women, didn't want to be inside of her, and _really_ didn't want Ian to have to watch. He felt like he was going to be sick again.

 

     “Pl-please stop,” he practically squeaked. He had heard a few stories from his sister, (whether they were just some girl’s she always seemed to know or actually her own) about the beatings and rapes that took place in their town. It happened so often no even bat an eye. If a young girl came up to you and said she was raped, most people in the neighborhood would look her up and down, blame her for what she was wearing, or actually ask what she did to provoke it. Mickey’s done some bad shit in his life, he knows he has, and he won’t deny it, but rapping someone or telling a victim it was their fault disgusted him. How could someone fucking do that? Who would? _Terry Milkovich._

 

     With all those stories he’d heard from Mandy, he never once pictured what it would be like if he was in that situation. He was a white, male, thug in Southside; not many people are trying to fuck him without his consent. It was never a worry of his. But, now, with a strange woman fucking herself on him, as he quietly begs for it to end, this was something he could tell in the moment he’d never be able to move past. If the damage to his brain from the pistol didn’t fuck him up, being raped in front of Ian, because of his father would.

 

     “Please,” he pleaded again. He raised his hands to the woman’s hips, trying to only touch what he had to, and move her off him. He had just barely lifted her up when Terry pulled his hands back. He was suddenly standing behind the couch, holding his wrists back, so tightly Mickey couldn’t move them himself.

 

     “Don’t fucking move,” he gritted in his son’s ear. Mickey shut his eyes so tight he could see stars. He tried to keep his breath steady so no one knew he was crying, but he fucking was. He hated how felt inside and out. He did this. This was his fault. If he never would’ve talked to, even looked at Ian, none of this would be happening. He did this to Ian. He did this to himself. His hands are shaking and his stomach is twisting again. The twinkling stars behind his eyelids morph into Ian’s skin, and it only hurts more. “Fucking touch her,” Terry almost shouted. Mickey jumped and felt himself shaking every more, his whole body trembling now. Terry lifted his hands and placed them on the Russian’s breasts, making him squeeze and knead them.

 

     She kept her hands on Mickey’s shoulders and was making a big show of the whole thing. Maybe for Terry, maybe just because she was fucking used to making people think she enjoyed sex this much, most likely just to keep her life. Either way, it was gross and annoying. It's slimy and wet and slick and loud. She's bouncing her tits in his face and moaning loudly. If there was anything left in his stomach, he’d probably vomit on her again. Mickey's fucked girls before but he always hated it, and never in this position. He always preferred bending them over and getting it done as fast as possible.

 

     Terry dropped Mickey’s hands and walked away, moving to sit back on the chair. “Fuck him harder, bitch. You’re not doin’ your job,” he grunted as he sat down. The woman took no time to comply, taking matters into her own hands, literally. Mickey figured she was working it all up and going a bit over board to really convince Terry that she was doing her best so he wouldn’t hurt her. She started bouncing on Mickey even harder and took one of his hands in hers. She moved it down, having to pull roughly against his attempts to take his hand back, and forced him to start rubbing her clit. She threw her head back and everything; real convincing. He tried asking for everything to stop again, but no one was listening.

 

     Mickey opened his eyes fully again and looked back at Ian, who just stared at a spot on the ground. Mickey saw tears running down his face and he knows he's spilling his own that are mixing with the rivers of blood there were still racing down his face. He didn't like seeing Ian like that. He was too beautiful and whole to have so much hurt etched on his face. His faint freckles were covered up by bruises and blood and it was just _sad_. “I-Ian,” he croaked, needing to look at him fully, needing to talk to him. He just needed Ian so fucking bad right now. Ian just closed his eyes tightly, letting more heavy tears fall right in his lap. In an instant, it felt like Ian was giving up on him, that he didn’t want anything to do with Mickey anymore, and he understood. If he was Ian, he’d be disgusted with him, he’d hate him. Still, this wasn’t fair.

 

     He wanted to push this woman off of him and go to Ian. Cup his face in his hands and tell him it was okay, that he was okay, they were okay. Wipe his tears away. He'd probably stand him up and take him to the bathroom to clean him up, clean them both up. He'd pull Ian into bed and they’d fall asleep in each other's arms and pretend none of this happened. He’d hold him and never, ever let go, never again. What a delusion. How was Mickey ever going to sleep in his cold bed alone again, knowing what it's like to have the empty spot on the left side occupied by the otherworldly presence that was Ian?

 

     Mickey couldn't do this anymore, he couldn't do this to Ian. He can’t see Ian like this anymore, and doesn’t want him to feel like that. Any doubt that Mickey had ever had about Ian not caring about him melted when he saw the pain in the dull green eyes. It could've just been from the pain of his beating, but Mickey doesn't think that's it. He thinks it really is hurting him to see this. He could almost laugh at that, because here he was, finally realizing that Ian saw him as more than just something to fuck, and now they’d never get to see each other again.

 

     The thought that he was so fucking close to being with Ian today hits harder than any of the blows Terry’s fists or gun landed on him. He closes his eyes and sighs painfully. He had to do this, even if he didn’t want to. He had to end this. The quicker he could get this woman off him, the quicker this would all be over. Ian could leave the Milkovich house alive, and that's all that mattered. Ian could run away, for away, with his life, and go find some other fuck who could make him happier than Mickey ever could.

 

     Mickey wouldn't be able to ever see him again, though, and that thought killed him. That was the only thing holding him back right now. He just didn’t want to leave Ian, he wanted to stay with him. But, he couldn't think about that right now. If he got too caught up in his own feelings, he'd be selfish and try to keep seeing Ian after today. And, for the sake of that beautiful boy's livelihood; he couldn't do that. He took in as much of Ian's battered face as he could, the last look he'd ever have of Ian Gallagher, and also a reminder as to why he had to end things. He could never see Ian like this again. He could never see Ian again at all.

 

     He finally began to move, for the first time in God knows how long. He lifted his hands onto the women's hips again and flipped her onto her back on the couch. He hovered over her and just fucked her as devastatingly convincing as he could. He could see his tears dripping down onto her tanned skin. How wretched. How pathetic. Crying on some whore. It felt like an eternity; his body felt pained and heavy and stiff and it was just still so disgusting. He kept his eyes closed and his hands on the woman's hips. He couldn't hear anything but his own uncomfortable grunting and her (fake?) moans.

 

     He just thinks of Ian, not even in a sexual way to get through it, but just _Ian_. How he could live a better life without someone like Mickey latching onto him. How he can go home to his family and his other friends, better friends, he can joke and laugh and smile with them. Everything will be okay for Ian, if he just gets through this. It won’t be hard. Torturing himself to keep Ian alive and happy will be the easiest thing Mickey has ever done. He deserves this pain and humiliation, not Ian.

 

     He didn't even try to get hard because he knew it just wasn't going to happen, it was moot. That only made the whole thing so much worse. They were gross and sweaty, and now his dick was all wet and vile. He wasn’t even wearing a condom, so he’d be lucky to make it out of this whole thing with only one STD. No way he’d be able to cum, though, so if he _had_ to look for a bright side (besides Ian staying alive), it’d be that he wouldn’t end up with a kid with the Russian whore. He should be thanking his lucky stars at this point.

 

     He hadn't fucked a girl in so long it didn't even do anything for him anymore. He knew what it was like with a man now, with _Ian_ , and he couldn't go back. After what was probably two minutes, tops, but felt like two hours, Mickey finally had to fake his orgasm, seconds before the women had her own, real or otherwise, and immediately stood up. He did what his dad wanted, more or less. He was done here. He was done being embarrassed and exploited. He was done being touched and threatened and seeing Ian like _that_. He was _done_. He wasn't looking at anyone in the room, but just walked away, right out of the living room. He walked down the hall as best he could on his wobbly legs, and locked himself up in his bedroom.

 

     He avoids the mirror as he enters the bathroom and locks that door as well, hoping not to catch his reflection, he knows he’ll be disgusted with what he sees. He counted to ten in his head slowly, listening to make sure no one was trying to come in. When he knew the coast was clear, Mickey turned his back against the door and slid down to the floor. He brought his knees up to his chest and crossed his arms over them. Everything hits him instantly. He cries. He cries and he screams into his arm to muffle the noise. He has nothing left and just feels empty and dirty and used. He feels broken and hopeless and gross. He doesn't remember the last time he cried before today, and definitely not the last time he cried this hard. Maybe when his mom died. Or maybe over something stupid when he was a kid. Who knows.

 

     He doesn't ever want to feel like this again. He doesn't ever want to see Ian again if this will end up being the outcome every time. _Ian_. Was he okay? Did he get out of the house? Where was he? _Fuck_. He lifted his head off his arms and just looked into the poorly-lit bathroom. Should he risk it and go out to see what was happening? Why the hell did he leave Ian alone out there with Terry? Fucking _Ian_. Mickey couldn't go a second without thinking about Ian, how was he supposed to forget him? He needed to move on from all of this now, but how?

 

     He looked down at his shaking hands and noticed the dried blood. What’s funny is the blood doesn’t make him feel dirty; he’s been covered in blood more times than he can counts, whether it was his or someone else’s. What _does_ make him feel unclean and tainted, though, is what he can’t actually see; what he feels. He can feel that woman touching him and grabbing him, and still feel himself inside her. The disgusting layers of sweat or dried and his skin feels tight. He feels ashamed and used and shattered.

 

     Through the still heavy tears and cries, he pulls himself up by the edge of the sink, still keeping his eyes of the smudged mirror. He turns the shower water on as hot as it’ll go and looks down at himself. Even alone in his bathroom, he already feels too vulnerable, the last thing he wants to do right now is be naked. Still, it’s only him, and he needs to feel clean. Mickey reluctantly pulls off his boxers, as slow as he’s ever had, tossing them off somewhere, and steps into the shower. What the showerhead lacks in water pressure it makes up for in heat; even if it doesn’t feel like anything’s washing off, and it takes extra scrubbing, he can almost feel the top layer of his skin burning off, and under different circumstance, would satisfy him.

 

     He lathers as much soap as physically possible in his hands and starts scrubbing at his body with a washcloth he’d left hanging on a hook. He scrubs till the blood and sweat are gone but it’s not enough. Mickey scrubs his skin raw, he looks at it and can’t tell If it’s red because of the water temperature or the abrasive washing, but he still doesn’t feel clean enough. He ends up not stopping until there is no more hot water, some twenty minutes later; never once does his heavy hand lighten on his skin or does he stop crying into the pathetic water stream.

 

     Mickey tried to steady his breathing once he’s out of the shower, not even bothering to dry off. He'd have to get control of his emotions sooner or later so he might as well try to now. He sits down on the closed lid of the toilet, not even reacting to the bitter cold against his skin. He somehow feels numb but also in the most pain he’s ever felt. Why did this have to be happening to him? To Ian? He wanted to be with Ian, that’s all he wanted. To be happy and healthy with that fucking _guy_. And now? He was cold and alone and disgusting.

 

     Even if some weird twist of fate got the two of them back together, no way Ian would want anything to do with him. He’d never look at him the same. Mickey’s put Ian in harm’s way and now shoved him under Terry’s radar, which is somewhere you never wanted to be. Mickey was also used, now, in the worst way possible, and Ian knew because he was a witness. He’d never even want to touch him again, now. Maybe that was for the best, as they can’t continue seeing each other, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.

 

     Well, maybe now wasn't the best time try to control his emotions. Maybe he could have tonight to just wallow in self-pity. Mickey sank onto the ground until he was laying on the cool linoleum. He wanted to drift away, he didn’t want to be here anymore. Not in this house, this town, fuck, he didn’t want to be on this planet anymore. He wants to be shot into space and be with the stars. That’s where he belongs; in the stars. He’d feel at home there.

 

     There’d be easier ways of getting there, of course, than laying on a dirty floor, waiting for death to find you. It’d be quicker to seek it out yourself, meet in the middle at the very least. He felt like death has brought him as far as it can on its own today, and he could suffer in a heap or he could finish the job himself. He can’t help that his eyes slowly slip up to the medicine cabinet on the wall by the door. Everything already felt so final and over, what would it matter if he made it more permeant? He doesn’t get a chance to answer his own questions, let alone get up and do anything, because now the exhaustion is hitting him, even though it’s still day, and he welcomes what hopes will be calmness and relief.

 

     The rest of that day and through the night, as he slept on the cold ground with his tears drying his face, Mickey relived the nightmarish events of the day. He’s sure he cried in his sleep if it’s possible. Every image and dream Mickey had ever had about Ian played in his mind. Only this time; they all changed. Right before something good would happen, Terry would bust into the room and beat Ian to death. Every happy, bright, smiling picture of Ian in his head morphed to forensic-esque crime scene photos of his bloodied, lifeless body left on the ground. That’s all he had left now. That’s it.

 

     Where was his bright side now?


	14. Chapter 14

**_ Chapter Fourteen _ **

 

 

 

 

     No amount of drugs or alcohol can completely erase something from one’s mind. They won't make your problems disappear permanently. They won't make your nightmares more bearable, but usually harder to stomach. You can drink, smoke, snort, or shoot your weight in whatever you can get your hands on, but you'll only end up dead. At least in death the weight will be lifted of your shoulders. At least in death everything goes away and is okay again. At least in death you can find peace.

 

     Death crosses Mickey's mind more and more every day now. If he could just drank another bottle, cut an extra line, pulled the trigger. He wouldn't have to pretend he's okay or try to get over anything; he could just be. Or, stop being, which sounds better most of the time anyway. No responsibilities, no hurt or pain. He'd be nothing but a worthless memory. Just rotting flesh and frail bone in the ground. That would be the easiest thing to do, now; take his own life.

 

     He always knew he'd die at a younger age and from anything but natural causes, so that wasn't scary. He liked control, liked knowing he was the one handling how things went down and could stop shit if he had to, so taking the fate of himself in his own hands and deciding when and how he leaves this planet, that wasn't scary. Having people 'miss' him? Wasn't scary, because who actually would? Not even how often he thought about ending his life was scary. What _was_ scary was leaving Ian Gallagher behind. Going somewhere as final as the afterlife only scared him when he thought about who and what he was leaving on Earth and what could happen. How would he be able to protect him from Terry if he left? How would he know if he was okay and safe? If he was happy? The thought of being away from Ian for eternity or having him in harm’s way is always what got him and snapped him back to more ‘rational’ thinking.

 

     The drugs didn't make that easier, either, they just out more fears and worse scenarios of all the bad shit he knew would happen. How could he do that for eternity? Mickey wasn't religious, he didn't believe in any kind of afterlife or higher being, but he could just see the universe playing a sick joke on him where there is something after death. He would die and wake up in a world where he was conscious but never got to see Ian, or, even worse, would have to witness Terry beating him to inches of his life or further on an endless repeat for the rest of forever. He’d never be able to escape it and he’d just have to suffer in the guilt alone. Never to see Ian, really, never to hear him or touch him, never to hold or kiss him.

 

     The drugs and alcohol may have made everything more vivid and scary, but, it somehow still managed to numb him in a way Mickey needed. He didn't want to keep feeling wanted wanted hands roaming his body, he didn't want to feel cool metal busting open his skin, he didn't want to feel what is was like to miss Ian. Of course, he still felt it most of the time, but his brain was usually dazed enough to distract itself, even if only with the terrible thoughts.

 

      Living in a sort of bubble for the past couple months with Ian had been so beautiful. It took time but Mickey had finally started opening up to him, more and more all the time. He felt so comfortable around Ian, and when they were apart he just thought about the next time he'd see him, or run through the memories of the _last_ time he saw the redhead. It's like he was led into this weird false sense of security where he could just let all his defenses down and not even think or worry about the consequences he was racking up for himself and Ian. He should've known better, really. It was so easy, being with Ian, to think that everything really was as bright, warm, and happy as it felt. It was so easy being with Ian, period. Ian really did feel like a safe space for Mickey; the simple thought of him or being able to play with his fingers, or when Ian would touch his thighs, it calmed him and centered him. He never wanted to be away from him ever again, he _was_ going to do everything in his power to stay with the ginger.

 

     But, things change. At first, all Mickey did was lay in bed. He barely moved unless to roll over or bury himself deeper in the sheets, he didn't speak to anyone, and barely ever even opened his eyes. He doesn't know how long it was before he finally did leave his room, but it had to have been longer than a week and shorter than a month. He had gone through every bottle of alcohol and every kind of drug he had stashed around his room and had begun suffering the worst come down he'd ever experienced. Well, maybe second only to the come down of an Ian high after the boy would leave him cold and alone in his bed. All he did was lay in a ball under his blankets and let the narcotics take over his body. He cried practically all day and night, he just couldn't help it. Tears were constantly rolling down his reddened cheeks, and sometimes it was all too much. Sometimes he'd just scream until he lost his voice and his throat burned and ached as much as his heart and soul. It was the closest he'd been to talking since _that_ day. He couldn't tell the difference between the anger and sadness anymore. It was just all pain. Eventually he just couldn't cry anymore, not really tears, and would just sob and shake. His whole body was numb but somehow also aching and throbbing in pain.

 

     As cliché as it was, nights were the hardest. He would remember what is was like to touch and hold Ian in his bed, to have his long, freckled arms wrapped around his torso. He'd reach out into the empty space of Ian's side of the bed, because it _was_ Ian's side, and if he just lightly touched the crumpled sheets with his eyes closed, he could almost feel Ian's warm skin. He would drift to sleep thinking he could feel Ian's weight next to him but the warmth never lasted. It was the only thing that calmed him though, and kept him level enough to sleep, at least until the thrashing would kick in. Every night, without fail, Mickey's subconscious would take over in the worst of ways. He would relive the beating all over again. He'd hear Ian's yells and screams like he was right there, the punches and kicks. The cuts and bruises felt so real and fresh Mickey would always run his hands over his face when he woke up and his skin would throb.

 

     He hated this dream version because his mind tried filling in spots he couldn't remember or wasn't awake for, and it was disgusting. Instead of the blackness the saw when he got knocked out, he saw Terry beating on Ian. He saw Terry kicking him and spitting on him and threatening him. He saw the tears and blood and fear drowning Ian as he just stared back at Mickey. Sometimes in his dream, he'd wake up and the Russian hooker would be coming in to ride him into the couch. Sometimes he never woke up. Sometimes Ian never woke up. Those ones were the worst. Terry would keep punching and kicking until Ian stopped breathing. He'd be left a completely lifeless mass on the couch but that was never enough. Terry had to make sure he was done for. He would shoot him until he was out of bullets. What's worse, sometimes he'd give Mickey the gun and make him shoot Ian. More often than not, Mickey woke up panting and sweating with fresh tears in his eyes.

 

     It never got easier. He never felt better. But, he was getting sick of being in his bed. He knew he probably couldn't anymore, but he thought, _swore_ , he could still smell Ian on his sheets and it made him sick. That's what made him get out of bed one day and shower. It was a long and painfully hot shower, because he still felt so sickening. He wanted to feel clean but even now, it didn't work. And, when he finally built himself up and stepped out of his room, the only person who looked up at him was Mandy. She looked worried and mad but stayed quiet. He didn't linger to try to make conversation, he just wanted to be out of this fucking house. So, he went on a walk. He didn't know where he'd go or end up but he definitely knew where he'd avoid. And, that became is new routine.

 

     It was only about two weeks after Mickey first got out of the house after the beating, about a month, give or take, since he's last seen Ian. He found the longer he was away from his house and Terry, the easier he could breathe, so he started getting out more often. He'd never been much into walks before, but now he liked anything that got him away from the Milkovich Shit Show. Sometimes he just went up to one of the abandoned buildings on the edge of town and hung out. He'd bring a six back and look over the city as he drank, and then shoot down the empty cans for target practice when he was done. Other times he'd go to the dugout or under the bleachers and drink or smoke or snort a bump until he didn't feel so grounded anymore.

 

     Today he was feeling particularly unwelcome at home. Terry and his brothers were back from a run and Mandy wouldn't get off his ass. Every time they were alone in the house, she'd corner him and start asking questions. 'What happened with you and Ian?' 'Why won't he come over anymore?' 'He always asks about you, what did you do?' It was getting annoying. He finally couldn't take it today and had snapped at her. "Just shut the fuck up already, Jesus Christ. I didn't fuckin' do anything."

 

     "You sure about that? He's being really fucking weird and won't shut up about you. Why would he be askin' 'bout you if you didn't do shit?" Mandy tilted her head and crossed her arms from were she stood in front of the couch. Mickey through his arms up in disbelief that she wouldn't just drop this.

 

     "How the fuck should I know?" Mandy shrugged.

 

     "I don't know, but, I mean, if he keeps bringing you up then-"

 

     "Nothin' fuckin' happened, okay? And, even if it did, it's none of your fuckin' business. If you're so damn worried about your boyfriend, go fuckin' ask him that shit." He got up from kitchen table where he was _trying_ to eat some damn eggs, and sighed heavily when he noticed his sister talking again.

 

     "I swear to fucking God, if you did something-"

 

     "Mandy! Shut the fuck up! Stay the fuck out of my business and leave me the fuck alone. You're such a fucking bitch." He shook his head and walked into his room and slammed the door as hard he could behind him. "Fuck!" he screamed, punching the wall his door was in. He shook his fist of the dust and dry wall and rand both hands though his hair, pacing around his room.

 

     Why the hell was Ian going around asking questions? Didn't he know how fucking dangerous that was for both of them? If he was going to be so public with their shit, the wrong person would catch wind and that really would be the end for both of them. Mickey huffed roughly and fell backwards onto his bed while rubbing his eyes. But- He dropped his hands to his sides and stared up at his dirty ceiling. Ian was still talking to Mandy about him? He was asking about him, even? He wished his stomach didn't flutter and flip, but he just couldn't help it; it was such a nice feeling knowing Ian was still thinking about Mickey. He just wished they could see each other again without something happening again, and worse than last time.

 

     He felt so uncomfortable and unwanted in his house, he decided he couldn't stay there tonight. He had got up from his bed and grabbed his old backpack from the corner of the room. He shoved a pillow in it (but took it out when he couldn't fit anything else in it; he could sleep on his backpack), a thin blanket and an extra sweater. He also tossed in his cigarettes, a lighter, weed, and as many cans of beer he could fit. He put on a sweater over his long sleeved shirt and then his big coat, grabbed his backpack and headed out of his room. He avoided his sister, who had taken his place at the table, and moved straight for the front door, slamming it hard behind him before she had a chance to call after him.

 

     He took a deep breath and tried to just breathe for a minute, tried to calm himself down. He looked around his street trying to figure out the best place for him to stay tonight. In an ideal world, he'd march himself to the Gallagher house and never leave Ian's side again. He actually laughs at that thought. Imagine that. Ian would probably spit in his face and kick him down the stairs. He sighed and decided on the most viable sleeping option.

 

     It didn't take long for Mickey to reach the gate of the dugouts. He tossed his bag over and climbed up. He was already pulling a beer out of his bag the second he landed. He sat down on the bench and looked out into the field as he drank. It hurt to be here. It had too much Ian around it. They first met on that field, they first kissed on the grass behind the gate, and they'd done so many more things in between. They shared things with each other. Sometimes they never even had sex. There were a few times where they sat on the benches and drank and smoked and just talked or looked at each other. Mickey would always make a remark about how gay Ian was being, just staring like that, but he knew he was doing the same thing. He liked when Ian looked at him. Usually, he hated having people's attention, but Ian was different, always different. He never looked down on Mickey, except when he physically had to due to the height difference. He never looked at him like he was scum or garbage. He never looked at him like anyone else did. No one could _ever_ look at Mickey the way Ian did.

 

     Mickey loved holding Ian's attention and sometimes would purposely ramble when he was talking just to keep Ian listening to him and looking at him. He missed that. He missed looking up and seeing bright, sparkling, ethereal, green eyes staring back. He missed the goofy smile and messy copper hair. He missed his laugh, _so_ god damn much it hurt. He missed the heat and feel of his skin. Missed the way he said his name, whispered his name, moaned his name, even screamed his name from time to time. He missed him. _Mickey_ missed _Ian_. He couldn't deny it anymore. He couldn't hide from his feelings. He just fucking _missed_ his ginger.

 

     The gods were either answering his prayers or playing a joke on him, he didn't know which yet. When Mickey finished his first beer and looked up to toss it into the nearest trash barrel that was chained to the fence, something from across the field caught his eye. He stood up, dropping the can to the dirt, and squinted his eyes. He didn't have to try very hard to see who it was when he could spot that hair from miles away in pitch black darkness.

 

     His heart started racing and his hands started sweating as Ian came closer into view. _What was happening?_ He had his own big coat on. He looked confused, maybe sad, and maybe even a little angry. His hair was messy and his eyes looked tired with small dark circles, but, under all of that, he still looked like Ian; Mickey's Ian. Mickey couldn't tell if he was relieved and glad that he looked so good still, sad and hurt that he didn't look as broken as Mickey felt, or pissed that he was here at all. He had a hard enough time trying to get the thought of Ian Gallagher out of his head, and now that he was here and they were alone, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to leave. He could actually see himself setting up a permanent residence int the dusty confines of the dugouts, if only to never have to leave Ian again.

 

     Ian finally came to stand in the dugout only feet from Mickey, and looked at him with so much confusion. Mickey didn't know what to say and just started at the boy in front of him. He wanted to reach out and touch him, he wanted to tell him everything he was too afraid to say _weeks_ ago. But, he couldn't Did he know Mickey was going to be here? Maybe he just came here by himself sometimes. "What the hell are you doing here?" He had to ask, he couldn't stand it. What he couldn't stand even more was how meekly he spoke.

 

     "Well, uh, Mandy said you just leave sometimes. I figure you come out here sometimes. I come out when I can, hoping I can see you, make sure you're okay. I mi- why do you have your backpack?" Ian's voice was music to Mickey's ears and his knees went weak. He'd miss that so much. He was so caught up in hearing Ian again, he almost missed his question.

 

     "Oh, I- I'm, uh, sleeping out here. Hopefully just tonight  I just need to get away from my fuckin' house for a minute," Mickey croaked. The second Mickey open his mouth Ian's face smoothed out. Mickey could cry.

 

     "Why? Did he hurt you? Is he still fucking with you?" He was reaching for Mickey, and everything in him told him to back away but he just couldn't, not when he's missed the touch for so long.

 

     "He never stops fucking with you, that's the thing with Terry," Mickey laughs dryly. He tried to stop his hands from moving up to grab Ian's wrists where they were, his hands resting on Mickey's shoulders, but he had no control. "It's hard to be around him but it always is. Mandy was freaking the fuck out on me though. Well, I freaked out on her. She kept asking stuff about you and what happened and I just started yelling." The two boys just stared at each other for a long time. Mickey didn't want to leave even though his brain was yelling at him to go away; he began rubbing his thumbs over the bumps of Ian's bony wrists.

 

     "I've been worried about you, Mick," Ian whispers after a while. "I've been calling and texting you for like a month. And I ask Mandy but she says she doesn't know or care. It's been driving me crazy not hearing from you." He looks so soft and fragile, Mickey's scared to even move an inch in fear of shattering him.

 

    "Yeah, I, uhm, I blocked your number. Not- not because I'm mad at you or anything," he says quickly when Ian tries to pull his hands away. Mickey tightens his grip around his arms to keep him where he is. "Because I was scared. For you. Fuck. I always have these thoughts, before we even ever did anything, that if you and me were, ya know, a fucking _thing_ , that he'd find out and hurt you. And he did. But he was nicer in real life than in my head because in my head he fucking _kills_ you every _damn_ time and I- I-" his breath is shaking and he closes his eyes. He feels hot tears running down his cheeks and he hates himself so fucking much, not only for crying at all, but for crying in front of Ian. Ian is wiping away his tears and he feels like a fucking baby. He lets his eyes flutter shut as he leans into the warm touch of Ian's hands cupping his face.

 

     "Hey, it's okay Mick. Look at me, I'm okay. I'm alive and breathing and I'm okay. We'll work it out, okay? We won't go to your house anymore, we'll stick to my house or-" Mickey's eyes pop open and his eyebrows are lost in his hairline.

 

     "What? No, no, Ian, we can't anymore. Okay?" He's talking fast and there's panic in his voice. "I can't see you anymore. we can't- I-" he shook his head, trying to straighten his thoughts, "I said in my head he kills you? Because he fucking would. If he catches us again-"

 

     "But he won't catch us again, that's what I'm telling you, he'll never know. This doesn't have to be over, Mick." Mickey flings Ian's arms away from him and takes a step back. Was he a complete idiot? What wasn't he getting? Mickey thinks he knows what he has to say but he doesn't think he can yet. "Just look at the bright side-"

 

     "No, Ian. _Fuck_! You may still have your _fucking_ rose glasses on or _whatever_ but I _don't_ , okay? We all can't be like you. I took mine off _years_ ago. I'm not looking at the bright side because I don't want to go fucking _blind_. I'm not looking at the bright side because there fucking _isn't_ one." He took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. "No, Gallagher, there's no coming back from this. I fucked up ever thinking something could happen here when I knew what was at risk. Okay? I'm sorry I dragged you into this, but it's over." He keeps his voice steady, he has to. If he wavers in the slightest, Ian won't believe him, but Mickey won't believe himself. He has to say it. He has to lie to Ian to get his point across. "I don't want you. You don't mean anything to me. You're nothing more than a warm mouth and a hard cock, okay? It was fun, and now it's done." His chest is raising and falling so fast. The look in Ian's eyes breaks his heart. The green stands out against the red rimming as he starts tearing up. Mickey runs his knuckles over his nose and wills himself to hold in his own tears.

 

     "Bullshit." Mickey just shakes his head. "No, bullshit. You think I believe that for a fucking _second_? You don't tell me the shit you've told me to someone you're just fucking. _God_ , Mickey. Do you have to be _so_ fucking pessimistic all the damn time? Stop being so cynical for a fucking second. I know you wanted to be with me and I know you still do." Ian took a step closer, Mickey took one back. "You love me, Mickey. You fuckin-" Mickey's tattooed fist connected with Ian's jaw before he could finish his thought, in the same place it had once before, but with so much more malice this time.

 

     Mickey just couldn't keep himself composed anymore. Ian wasn't getting it and Mickey had to give him a reason to stay away. He couldn't help the fact he didn't know how to talk about his fucking feelings or show emotion in a civilized way, that's not how he was 'raised'. The second he heard the word 'love' leave Ian's lips, it was over. _Love_ wasn't something Mickey let himself ever think about, especially in pertaining Ian. _Love_ was scary and unfamiliar and, yes, he _had_ thought about it a handful of times, but what was he supposed to do with that? When he heard Ian say it, he knew it was true. But, he still couldn't admit it and like fuck could he let Ian think it was true. It was too late for love, they didn't have a shot at it, so they couldn't sit around feeling that way.

 

     Ian just took every hit Mickey was landing on him. He didn't even try to fight back at all, which just made Mickey even more mad. He knew what it was like to do that, it usually meant he deserved the beating he was getting. Mickey laid still, taking every hit he got, enough times to know that. Ian didn't deserve this. Yet, it was making Mickey hit him even harder, not being able to control his body or emotions. Ian eventually stumbled onto his back in the dirt. He grunted and held his head. Mickey turned away and looked up into the sky, running his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes, trying to calm down. When did he get so damn emotional and start crying all the time?

 

     "Y-you love me, Mickey. You l-love me," Ian stuttered through the blood. Mickey closed his eyes and rounded on Ian again, kicking him in the gut repeatedly. He didn't stop until Ian was practically screaming, and had rolled over to clench his stomach. He had to get out of here, in fear of hurting Ian anymore than he already had; he didn't need anymore regrets right now. Mickey turned back around, grabbed his backpack, and stepped over Ian's moaning body and crossed the field. He never once looked back at the man he left fighting for his breath, he couldn't. He just needed to get away from this as fast as he could.

 

     Mickey turned into the nearest alley once he was across the street from the field and puked until nothing was left in his stomach. He sat down to catch his breath and just stared at his hands. They were bloodied and throbbing and shaking like mad. How many times could he tell himself he'd never hurt Ian before he'd _actually_ stop hurting him? Why did he keep putting unkind hands on something so beautiful? In his life, unkind hands _were_ the only kind Mickey had ever seen. Ian's were the exception, as always. How could some hands cause so much pain and destruction, when there were hands like Ian Gallagher's out in the world? Hands that could calm and ease you, could touch and press your skin just right. Hands that could fucking make art and music and just masterpieces if they really wanted to. How could they both exist in the same fucked world? And, why had Mickey taken the beautiful, peace-making, earth-shattering, soul-soothing of Ian for granted? He had them, once, and now they were gone. His own hands were disgusting, and he used them in the worst way possible on the best man alive.

 

     Why couldn't he just hold him and love Ian the way he wanted to. _Fuck_. Mickey did love Ian.


	15. Chapter 15

**_ Chapter Fifteen _ **

 

 

 

 

     Three months is apparently enough time to more or less change a person, given the right circumstances. It's enough time to break yourself down and see all the bad shit you hate and all the good shit you love. It's enough time to either kill the good or bad. Mickey was now nothing more than a simple shell of the man who once spent his time thinking of, being with, or loving Ian Gallagher. He'd wasted _years_ on the ginger prick, and he wouldn't give him another second. He couldn’t; he’d spent too much time trying to get over him.

 

     After he left Ian in a heap at the dugout, Mickey knew he needed to change things. He couldn’t keep going the way he had been over the years. He didn't want to hurt anymore, and, at the time, he didn't want to hurt Ian either. So, he did what made the most sense to him and cut him off. He kept his number blocked, stopped going to the Kash and Grab, and even avoided his sister even more. The less likely he was to run into Ian or hear something from or about him, the better his chances of not giving in and running back to him, or just hurting him even worse than he already has.

 

     In his time readjusting, Mickey had earned the trust of Terry again and was back as his number two. He oversaw things when Terry was out, and he always the first one he called on when he needed something to get done that he didn’t want to do himself. When he wasn't out on runs with the Milkovich men or doing some other ‘errand’, Mickey was at the bar, hooking up with random women in the bathroom. It wasn’t satisfying in the least, but he needed some relief that he couldn’t give himself, and no way was he about to go find some new, random dude to fuck him.

 

     He felt like he was back to his old, normal self, how he was before Mandy ever brought Gallagher into his house, and he himself brought him into his life. He didn't feel like he had any problems anymore. He was free again. All he had to deal with was the shit that Terry needed him to do. He’d fallen in the trap of Ian Gallagher, but he was lucky enough to get out, and there was no way he’d fall for that again. Whenever he found himself thinking or worrying about Ian, he'd go get wasted and fuck whoever was willing, and someone was _always_ willing.

 

     Mickey only felt pain or regret in the mornings, once his headed stopped pounding. He'd be sober and as clear minded as he could be, and he'd start hating himself. He never let himself think of Ian's name or face, but always felt him in his head in the morning, like an ever-present essence, always floating around. And, that's when the tale would start anew. He usually did a line or two of coke before he even got out of bed, and it was the only way he could function anymore. He went through his days so amped, he didn't have a bad thought until he'd wake up the next morning. He was spiraling out of control, but he had no idea, he couldn’t see it. If he could stay sober longer enough to really realize, he would completely hate himself.

 

     Days like today though, when he was, more or less, empty handed in the drug department, he just had to smoke a joint or two. That's usually when Mandy would try to approach him, so he should've known better than to leave his bed that morning. He strolled out of his room and went straight for the kitchen, only wanting something to fill his stomach. It was oddly quiet, maybe Terry took Iggy and Colin out for a shake down or something, or they were all still just passed out. He dug around fridge and looked for literally anything he could just eat straight from the container. He heard someone come in through the front door but didn't bother lifting his head.

 

     "No one’s here so are you gonna fucking tell me what happened now?" Mandy asked, pulling her beanie off and walking into the kitchen. It was spring already, but it was still chilly out in Chicago. Mickey closed his eyes, willing himself to somehow disappear into thin air.

 

     "What the fuck are you talking about?" Mickey slammed the fridge and walked away to go in his room, but Mandy just followed him, of course she did. Weed mornings were the worst mornings, and he blames Mandy. After one too many times of Mickey almost getting physical with Mandy while he was so high on coke, she learned to only address the Ian situation when he was out and only had weed, and she always seemed to know when that was.

 

     "You beat up Ian, you two become fucking friends, and now you're flying off the rails and killing yourself and Ian's just as much of a mess.” Apparently, she was just jumping right into it today. “You guys both looked like shit for weeks, all bruised and shit, and depressed looking. He barely talks to me now and I never see him. He never wants to come hang out and he won't say shit about what happened. What the fuck did you do to him Mickey?" She leaned on his door frame and crossed her arms while he began rummaging through his dresser. He wasn't looking for anything but he needed to do something with his hands. He couldn't hold and play with Ian's- nope, that wasn’t a thing he needed anymore.

 

     "Stop fucking saying I beat him. I didn't beat him. I hit him. Once. Ever. And it was a fucking accident." Except it was a fucking _lie_ now and he wanted to shoot himself every time he remembered. It still left a sour taste in his mouth and a worse feeling in his head and stomach. He turned around to glare at his sister, slamming the drawer shut. " _And_ its none of your _fucking_ business. I don't give a _shit_ that he's out moping around. Boo- _fucking_ -hoo. That's not _my_ problem, stop making it yours." He couldn't do this right now. He'd finally gotten to the point where he almost never thought of Ian. He didn't need to start backtracking on his progress of feeling guilty for what happened.

 

     "You _never_ should've _fucking_ talked to him. You ruined his _fucking_ life." Mickey thinks he can see the venom form behind her words, oozing from her mouth in bright green and violet strands. "He was a great, happy person before you and your cynicism had to fucking ruin him. Whatever you said to him or however you hurt him changed him. You made him a new fucking person who he'd hate. You happy with that? That you ruined someone's fucking _soul_ for what? A _joke_? Because it made _you_ a better person?” She shook her head and laughed darkly. “You're a sad, pathetic fucking piece of shit, Mickey. I'll never forgive you for this." She turned around and slammed the door. Mickey tried so hard during Mandy's rant not to let any tears fall, but it was a lost cause. He hadn’t truly thought about this shit in so long, and now that he had, it was hitting him like a ton of bricks.

 

     Ian was different? Was he really? The thought felt like knives twisting in his stomach. If the light went out in Ian it was Mickey's fault. He knew from the beginning that nothing good would come from the two seeing each other, he _knew_ Terry would find out, and he _knew_ he'd hurt Ian. But, he still let it happen. He was selfish. He wanted Ian so badly, he pushed the bad thoughts out of his head and pretended like nothing bad would happen. How stupid could he be? He almost got his job taken from him, he got his sense of security taken from him, even any innocence the young boy still had was beaten out of him and it was all Mickey's fault. He wished he could go talk to Ian and make sure he's okay, tell him he needs to be happy and healthy again but he knows he can't.

 

     But, maybe he had to. Maybe he had to at least check on Ian and explain a few things. Would it really hurt to just tell him he's sorry? He needed to apologize for putting Ian in harm's way and for hurting him with his own hands. He also needed to tell him he lied when he said he wanted nothing to do with him. Mickey needed Ian to know the truth, even if they still couldn't be together. Maybe this was the closure they both needed and they could be happy and move on.

 

     No, fuck closure. Mickey wanted Ian back. He could keep lying to himself, saying he could move on and he'd eventually get over everything, but he knew he wouldn't. Mickey has spent basically his whole life thinking of Ian somehow; you don't really give that up in a couple of months. He could deny it all he wanted, but he knew the feelings he felt for Ian, he knew he couldn't give up on that. If he had opened up and was ready to fight to be with Ian once, he could do that again. Ian was right, they could just be more careful; they wouldn't go to the Milkovich house, they'd work it out. He felt adrenaline rushing through him and, for the first time in a long time; hope. He was gonna get his fucking ginger back.

 

     Mickey looked around his room for any clothes he could find and got dressed faster than he ever has. With his mind really focused on Ian for the first time in months, and the new possibilities of being with him again, he's realizing he hates what he's been doing. Why hadn't he gone to Ian sooner? If he really was all messed up because of Mickey, he was a real jackass for not putting things right a long time ago. He pulled on his shoes and left his room, now on a mission. "I'll be back later," he said to Mandy. She looked up at him from the couch but turned away again. He rolled his eyes but still headed out the down and down to the side walk.

 

     The whole walk to the Gallagher abode, Mickey thought about what things could be like in a perfect world. In this fantasy land, everything was seamless. Terry was gone with no chance of ever coming back. Ian and Mickey were finally dating and lived together, either at one of their houses, or maybe they'd be able to get their own place. They were happy and in love and it was perfect. They could be like that forever. They could buy a house together and maybe get a fucking dog or something. They could take back their little bubble they had before, but keep it just for themselves. Just Ian and Mickey forever.

 

     He shook the thoughts out of head. Why'd he spend three months drinking and snorting himself into a grave just wake up one day and find himself walking to his house? _It was just to help them both get over it_ , he kept telling himself. None of that would matter in a minute, though. He was going to see Ian, get him happy again, and stay with him. He wasn't fucking this up again. He stopped walking when he approached the back door of the Gallagher house. He was so close. He was right there.

 

     He climbed the back stairs slowly and took a deep breath when he reached the door. In the time that Mickey had known Ian, he hadn’t been able to tell him his feelings and what he really wanted, and now, with only a few minutes to really decided to go through with this, he didn’t know if he could. But, he already knew too well what it was like to not have Ian in his life, and he didn’t want to live like that anymore. He wasn’t going to be a coward for a second longer; he was doing this.

 

     He knocked and waited for what felt like eternity for the door to open. Finally, it did, and Mickey was met with a goofy looking guy, about his age. Before Mickey could open his mouth to say anything or ask about Ian, the guy took a full look at Mickey and punched him right in the nose with no real warning. Mickey stumbled back against the porch railing and gripped his nose. "What the fuck!" he yelled. He heard shuffling from inside and chairs scraping the floor but just tilted his head back and shut his eyes. This was going well.

 

     "Lip, what the fuck!" Mickey knew that voice, that was Ian's sister he met the first time he came by. When he opened his eyes and was standing properly, he saw all the Gallagher siblings were standing in the door, staring at him. All but Ian who was nowhere in sight. That was worrying.

 

     "That's the Milkovich, he's the reason Ian's gone!" The goofy guy, Lip, yelled and went to lunge at Mickey again. Mickey just stood still and felt his stomach drop. Gone? Gone as in how? What did that mean? Fiona, that was her name, he remembered, pulled Lip back into the house and gave Mickey a dirty look. She turned around to face the other Gallagher's.

 

     "Stay in here, I'm going to deal with this, maybe he can help."

 

     "Fiona, he's the fucking reason-" She cut Lip off.

 

     "I'm going to deal with this," she said again and closed the door before anyone else could protest. Mickey had let go of his face and just let the blood flow because his hands had begun shaking. She just kept staring at him and finally pointed down the stairs. He moved quickly down the small flight, not needing any vocal instructions, with Fiona quick on his heels. When they made it to the bottom he followed her to a cheap set of lawn furniture and they each took a seat.

 

     "Ian's gone?" He asked quietly the second they were both seated. He couldn't sit around here waiting for her to start asking questions when he had his own. Her brows furrowed at him and she just looked angrier.

 

     "You don't know where he is?" Mickey shook his head and lifted his bloody hand to bite his nails nervously. This couldn't be good. "Fuck. He disappeared a couple months ago, no one’s seen or really heard from him. Guess he told Lip about you two though, and Lip told us when he first ran off. Said you two have been fuckin'. Then fought. Now Ian's gone." Mickey knew the hundreds of things she was insinuating. He just shook his head.

 

     "It wasn't fuckin’ like that. I'd never do anything to Ian-"

 

     "But you did, didn't you? You beat the shit out of him, twice. He tells Lip everything and Lip tells me what I need to know." Mickey looked down into his lap and played with his hands. If he didn't feel like shit before he definitely did now.

 

     "Things got complicated," he whispered. He needed her to understand. He needed everyone to understand. "I- the first time I hurt him, I just hit him once. It was before we ever even did anything. And I felt like shit. I never wanted to hurt him ever, I wanted-I wanted to fucking _protect_ him. And it was an accident. And I told him and we talked about it and he fucking understood and we were okay. And then- and then my dad found out about us and-and he hurt Ian really bad." Mickey felt tears slipping from his eyes but he didn't even bother trying to hide them. He never got to talk to anyone about everything that happened and even though he was mad at Ian for blabbing to his brother, he was glad he could tell someone now, even someone he didn't know. He couldn't stop himself from talking if he tried right now.

 

     "My dad just- he fucked everything. And I just ignored Ian for a fucking month because I was scared that if he kept coming over or we kept fucking around that my dad would do something worse. And I couldn't do that to him. I-I lo-" he sighed, "I really care about him. And he found me one day out in our damn dugout and we talked and I fucking told him we couldn't do this anymore for his fucking sake and he had to go and fucking accuse me of feeling shit for him. Even if I do. He didn't have to say it. It made having to leave harder. But he wouldn't shut the fuck up about it and I just fucking hit him and kept hitting him and kicking him and-and I fucked up. I hate myself for what I did to him. I fucked up. I haven't seen him since. I wanted to come talk to him today to see if he's okay and to- well my sister said he wasn't okay and I-" He rubbed his eyes and sniffed loudly. What was it about Gallaghers that made him spill his guts like that? That was definitely more than he wanted to or should have said.

 

     "Your sister? She talked to him?" It’s like Fiona missed every other word he said. But he nodded anyway.

 

     "Yeah, well kinda. She said he doesn't talk to her much anymore. She hasn't seen him at all but he doesn't really like talking to her anymore I guess I don't know." She just nodded and stood up.

 

     "When he comes back, stay the fuck away from him." Mickey just looked up her and felt anger raise in his body. Who the fuck was she to tell him he wasn't 'allowed' to see Ian anymore?

 

     "Excuse me?"

 

     "Stay away from my brother. He was a good kid before he met you. Now he comes home covered in blood and goes missing for months at a time." Mickey shot up and shook his head, eyebrows raised as ever.

 

     "Months? He's been gone for _months_? What the fuck have you guys been doing? Did you look for him?" Mickey just thought Ian had been gone for like a week or something. Where could he have gone off to for multiple months where no one already found him?

 

     "We didn't send out a search party or anything, I trust him. He’s probably staying with friends. He'll come back when he comes back." Fiona crossed her arms and was getting increasingly defensive now. Mickey just stared at her like he didn't understand a single word she was saying.

 

     “What fuckin’ friends? God, you really don’t fuckin care, do you? You don’t know fuckin’ shit about his life. You know how much he hates it here?” Fiona pulled her head back and glared at Mickey.

 

     “Excuse _me_?” she bit. Mickey laughed darkly.

 

     “You don’t know shit about Ian because you don’t care and he feels so fucking unimportant and unnoticed. You guys don’t give a shit. _I_ care. He tells _me_ shit.” Fiona started back at him, thinking of what to say, but stayed quietly. She eventually opened her mouth but Mickey shook his head again and cut her off before she had a chance to voice whatever it was she was thinking.

 

     "You've just been letting Ian run around god knows where doing god knows what? No one’s fucking seen him, something could be wrong." Mickey started turning in circles and felt the panic replacing most of the anger. He was mentally crosschecking every conversation they've ever had, looking for some clue on where Ian could have ran off to. He couldn't trust the Gallaghers to go looking for Ian so he was going to do it himself. "You're running a real tight fucking ship around here." All anger drains from Fiona's face and she looks like she's seen a ghost.

 

     Mickey doesn't stick around for her to give a reply, but just turned around and left. He didn't know how long it would take to find Ian but he knew he wasn't ever going to let him go again. He was going to get Ian home, get home safe, and never leave him. There was a number of places Mickey had in mind to check for Ian decided the sooner he went on his hunt the better. He could only hope he got him soon enough.


	16. Chapter 16

**_ Chapter Sixteen _ **

 

 

 

 

     Mickey had spent two weeks running around town looking for Ian. He still hadn't found him or anyone who's heard anything from him, though, so his effort felt all for naught. After he had left the Gallagher's where he spoke to Fiona, he went straight to the Kash and Grab. He knew Ian hadn't gotten fired all those months ago, and was definitely still working when they were when they had been ‘together’, so maybe he was still showing up. Or, and he hated to think so, maybe Ian went back to sleeping with his boss after Mickey told him he didn't want to be with him anymore. A stupid move in retrospect, as were most things he'd done. Either way, he had to be there, where else would he be?

 

     Mickey had burst through the shop doors and just began looking down all the aisles, not caring about anything else besides where Ian was. Only Kash and his wife were there though. He knew she was his wife not only because he'd seen them fight so many times when he was there stealing shit, but Ian had mentioned her when he'd talk about work. "What are you doing here Mickey? Leave," Kash said as he stood up from behind the counter. Normally, Kash was too scared of Mickey to stand up to him, but after Mickey had beat the shit out of him for catching him with Ian, he had started toughening up. He wasn’t sure, but Mickey was pretty sure it was because he knew something was going on between the two younger boys, and he was just bitter and jealous.

 

     "I will shoot you if you steal anything, Milkovich," the woman came to stand in front of the front doors and block him in. Mickey just rolled his eyes.

 

     "Jesus Christ, I'm not here to steal shit, I'm looking for Gallagher, when's his next shift?" Kash quickly sat down and lowered his head and the woman (what was her fucking name? Ian had mentioned her so many times) gave him a weird look. Mickey looked to Kash who just looked so pathetic and nervous while he twiddled he fingers.

 

     "Ian? He hasn't been around in months," Kash spoke weakly, still looking down.

 

     "He just stopped showing up, we just figured he was quitting," Lexi (maybe? Was that it?) moved from the door to go restock more shelves. What the hell was wrong with this town? “Kinda of a pussy way out. He could’ve but in his two weeks or at least tell us he’s-“

 

     "So, a sixteen-year-old goes missing for months and no one bothers to go looking for him? What the fuck is wrong with you people." Mickey couldn’t be there anymore and had to get out. He stormed out of the store in a tizzy but only made it halfway down the street before he turned around to go back. He only stepped half way into the store and looked right at Linda ( _Linda_ , it was _totally_ Linda, he remembered), pointing at Kash. "By the way, your husband s’been fucking teenage boys." And with that, he did leave.

 

     If Ian wasn't showing up to work anymore, where the fuck was he? On his way home, Mickey took his phone out and unblocked Ian's number and was immediately flooded with guilt. Ian had probably called and texted him so many times, maybe he even told him where he was going. But, Mickey was so hellbent in trying to protect Ian from his family that he'd never know. He took a deep breath and opened Ian's contact to call him. It rang a couple times, which he thought was a good sign, but ultimately just went to voicemail.

 

     "Ian-Ian it’s Mickey. Where are you, man? I'm sorry for what happened. I'm really fucking sorry. Fucking call me back or text or something. Please." He took a deep breath and pocketed his phone. He'd keep calling until Ian answered.

 

     After that day, he went everywhere from the school, parks, bars, the mall, literally just anywhere he could think of. He even hung around the army recruitments and talked to them because he remembered Ian telling him about his interests of joining one day, even if he also told him he wasn't as interested anymore. Maybe he had decided nothing was left here for him and to go back to his original army dreams. But, nothing. He even would bring the selfie of Ian that he had stolen and hidden away in his room all those months ago to show people what he looked like.

 

     Every day in those two weeks, Mickey would text Ian the second he woke up and throughout the day. Letting him know where he's looked, that he _was_ looking, that _someone_ was looking, and that he won’t stop looking. And he ended every night by calling Ian in bed, telling him about his day and that he hoped he was safe and okay, that he'd see him soon and they'd never do this again. He'd pull the picture of Ian out from it's safe spot under his pillow or from the pocket of his jeans, and put it on Ian's pillow (because it was till Ian's pillow and nothing could change that) and just hope he'd actually be there when he woke up.

 

     He had just sent his 'good morning, I hope you're not doing something fucking stupid. Maybe stand outside of wherever the fuck you are so I can see your hair and find you better, jackass' text and was smoking a cigarette on the couch. He was scrolling through the pictures he had of his sleeping ginger, just staring at them. He missed that body, that hair. He missed the freckles and the smiles. He missed the touches and the laughs. He missed his friend, his boy, his _rose-colored_ boy, his Ian.

 

     It was so early everyone else was asleep, so he used to quiet and stillness of the house to try to think clearly. He was running out of spots to look for Ian and it was driving him insane. It felt like he's searched every inch of town and was still no closer to finding him. He was so fucking close to buying a poster board and making his own little evidence board to try to cross reference where he's been and where Ian still could be. He tossed his locked phone on the couch and was rubbing his eyes in frustration when Iggy came in to sit with him. "Are you and your boyfriend still fighting? 'Cause this moping shit is getting a little old, man." Mickey's head snapped up and he stared at his brother across the room in the chair.

 

     "What the fuck did you just say?" His heart was pounding.

 

     "Gallagher. Did you guys fuck and make up yet?" Iggy was speaking so nonchalantly and pulled a cigarette out from behind his ear and lit it. How the fuck did _Iggy_ of all people know?

 

     "How did you-" Iggy just laughed.

 

     "You guys aren't slick, Mick. I had my suspicions. That one time I came in and you guys were hanging out, and your neck was so fucked? I had an idea what really happened. Then you fuckers spent the whole night holding hands behind my fucking head. _Then_ he fucking locked your door, and you had _more_ fucking hickies when he left then you did when he got here. I'm not stupid," he said around his cigarette. This whole time Mickey was worried about Mandy or Terry finding out and Iggy, the little fuck, knew pretty much all along. "Plus," he started again, _oh good_ , "you guys have _definitely_ fucked while I was in the house and you're both loud as _shit_."

 

     "Well fuck," Mickey sighed and leaned into the couch. This probably wasn't good. Having Iggy know could be really fucking bad.

 

     "I don't give a shit though. And I'm not gonna tell anyone, I don't have a death wish for either of us." Mickey sighed in relief. He wasn't expecting that. He wanted to stare him down and ask questions, see what was really going on. But, he couldn't, he only ever had energy for his one-man search party anymore. He looked back to his brother.

 

     "Thanks, really. I can't let that get out. Dad already got us once, that's the last thing that needs to happen, again."

 

     "So, what happened? Like with you guys?" Mickey took a deep breath and figured ‘what the hell?’ He already told Ian's sister, he might as well tell his own brother; it was too much to hold in to just himself anymore. But, he went into more detail this time. He told Iggy everything; from how he's had feelings for Ian since he was a kid, when he hit Ian, when they first had sex. Their first kiss, Mickey deciding he wanted to be with Ian. When Terry found them. When Mickey beat up Ian and made him leave. Ian running away. And, literally everything in between. He didn't leave out a single detail. He had started talking and just couldn't stop, sometimes getting stuck just describing Ian or how he made him feel.

 

     They sat there for probably two hours or more, just smoking and talking. Iggy listened and just let Mickey say everything on his mind. Ian was the only other person Mickey ever felt this open enough to talk to. He wished he knew Iggy was in on the secret and willing to listen sooner because maybe he could've helped and they wouldn't be in this mess. Ian wouldn't be missing. It was also just nice to finally talk to someone. He doesn't know how many times he wished he'd had a friend to talk to about all the dumb shit in his life, who would've known it would've been Iggy.

 

     "Damn. Things are pretty fucked," Iggy said when Mickey was finally done explaining the situation. "What are you gonna do?"

 

     "I don't know," Mickey sighed. And he really didn’t. "I just need to find him, that's top priority. And then, I don't know, I guess I probably have to talk to him already. I kept meaning to but always chickened out." Mickey was staring at his hands in his lap with his brows furrowed. He was playing with his tattoos like Ian would be doing if he were here. It didn’t calm him as well as it did when it was Ian, but it helped.

 

     "Do you love him?" Mickey closed his eyes and sighed. Who the fuck even was Iggy and when did he start being the person who asked shit like that?

 

     "I don't know. I mean, ye-“ he sighed again, “maybe." He knew he did. He just couldn't say it yet, not to someone who wasn't Ian. He opened his eyes and looked up to Iggy. "I'm so fucked." His brother just laughed and nodded.

 

     "You sure are buddy. Love, love, love. What is it good for?" He stood up and stretched. "I only came out to take a piss so I'm gonna go take that piss and go back to bed." He clapped Mickey's shoulder as he passed him and left the room. What was it good for? For feeling wanted and cared for. For having someone _yourself_ to want and care for. To love and be loved back. To be loved and to be in love.

 

     Mickey was still new to this whole love thing but it felt like something that once you grabbed ahold of it, you never let go. You were supposed to pursue it with reckless abandon. Apparently, he wasn't very good at love because that's where he fucked up; the second he got it he let it go. Sometimes Mickey still couldn't believe how fucked up everything had gotten, especially now with Ian missing. He didn't know who was more to blame; himself or Terry. While he wanted to blame everything on Terry, because that was just easier, he knew he couldn't. He'd done things he knew he shouldn't have.

 

     He never should have hit Ian and beat him up. Never should've pushed him away. Maybe he never should've started with him in the first place but out of all his regrets that one was at the bottom. He still felt guilty for ever letting Ian get mixed up in his family but he'd never felt anything like the way he felt around Ian. He'd take getting pistol whipped by his dad again one hundred times if he got to spend more day with his ginger.

 

     He pulled his phone out and sent a text to Ian.

 

     Mickey: _hey fuckhead im doubling back on places ive already been so if ur there u better get u skinny ass outside and wait for me. dont do anything stupid please. see u soon._

 

     Mickey sighed and stood up to leave. Maybe he needed to start branching out further. He obviously wasn't anywhere in town, so maybe he should go to the surrounding cities and other neighborhoods. Maybe he'd try that next week. He was only half way to the door when Terry came stumbling in through it. Mickey didn't even know he was out. "Where the fuck have you been?" Terry slurred, probably still drunk or high, or both.

 

     "Here? I haven't gone anywhere, I just fucking woke up." Mickey didn't have time for this shit. He tried to walk past the older Milkovich, but he sidestepped, blocking his way.

 

     "I don't mean now, you fucker. You're never fucking here. You’re leaving right now. How the hell am I supposed to make all my collections when you’re fucking off all damn day?" He started stepping closer to Mickey and he feared what could happen next. But, for once in his life, the anger for his father overpowered the fear.

 

     "I've got my own shit to take care of. I can't sit around all day like your fucking lap dog," he bit back. Terry raised his hand to smack his son across the face, but Mickey was quicker and soberer. He grabbed his dad's wrist and twisted his arm slightly, the man immediately froze.

 

     "You're not going to fucking hit me. I'm not gonna run around being your fucking errand boy anymore." Mickey felt power with his words of defiance but also regret. He's always wanted to stand up to his dad, but he always knew better. And, was now really the time? Alone in his house with no witnesses? He should probably find Ian first so he could know he was okay before his own demise. But he couldn't stop talking now; he was just filled with so much anger and hatred for the man in front of him, and needed to put him in his place. "I'm so done with your fucking shit. You think you own us, all of us. You fucking _don't_. You're not gonna boss us around anymore, you're not gonna knock us around anymore. You're not gonna touch Mandy fucking _ever_ again. And I'll _kill_ you _ever_ lay another finger on Ian Gallagher."

 

     Terry started to get his fight back on him and started pushing back against Mickey as best he could. "You better watch who you're fucking talking to. Show some god damn respect." Mickey laughed in his face which was growing redder by the second.

 

     "Respect? For you? You beat the shit out of your kids and fuck your daughter on a regular basis. You wouldn't know respect if it were suckin' your tiny dick," he spat at his father. Terry lifted his other hand and pushed Mickey onto the ground and straddled him to hit his face. But, unlike every other beating, Mickey fought back this time; dodging punches as best he could, and returning just as many into his dad's flesh. They were a bloody mess in seconds, but it didn't last much longer before Iggy was pulling Terry off Mickey. Iggy held their father back as best he could while the old man was yelling at them both and squirming around. Mickey stood and started laughing again, blood spurring from his mouth.

 

     "Speaking of sucking dick," Mickey said thickly before spitting a mouthful of blood unto the floor; _now was the time_ , according to the mass amounts of adrenaline coursing through his body. "I actually  _l_ _ove_ suckin’ dick. I blow Ian _all_ the fuckin’ time. Know why? 'Cause I'm fucking _gay_. And I bring him over _all_ the time. Guess what we've been doin' daddy? We've been fuckin'! All over your house. He gives it to me really good and I fucking love it!" Mickey's yelling and laughing and he probably looks crazy. The same darkness that Terry held in his eyes the day he found Mickey and Ian fucking is back.

 

     "I'm going to fucking kill you," Terry growled through his own blood, "both of you. You and your faggot boyfriend are dead the next time you step foot in this fucking house." Mickey was still just laughing.

 

     "Don't you _fucking_ worry about it, _dad_. I'll stay with Ian. Then I can get his dick whenever the fuck I want. _Fuck you_ ," he finally stopped laughing and his face was stone cold. He walked up to Terry, who was still struggling against Iggy and was drained of all color. His mouth was filled with more blood and saliva already and he spit it all square in his dad's face. He walked right passed him and his brother and straight out the door. He could hear Terry screaming inside and knew better than to be visible by the time he inevitably got out of the house, so he took off running. He only went up a couple streets before he was winded and fell back into a patch of grass on a side walk.

 

     His heart was racing and he was still pumping so much adrenaline that the pain from the fight hadn't set in yet. As he caught his breath, his mind started to clear. He felt so good to finally come clean to the one person holding him back. He was honest to God smiling so big to nobody but himself, that his cheeks start to hurt. He wishes so fucking bad that Ian could be here right now to see him. He'd be so happy and proud. He'd probably say how amazing and how brave he was. How happy he looked. He could actually hear Ian's voice in his head telling him 'on the bright side, you're out and can kiss me all over town now.'

 

     The smile faded when he thought about what he'd just done. He set Terry off on a new war path, and left him with Colin, Iggy, and Mandy. Colin would be fine; he only ever showed up anymore when Terry needed him for something. Iggy could hold his own pretty well and knew when and how to stay out of the way. But Mandy couldn't do much. Mickey thought about his options. He could go back and deal with the possibility of being killed. He could find a way to get Mandy out. But, where would he take her? He didn't even know where he was going to stay if he didn't go back home. They didn't need to run away from the threat, they needed to get the threat out of the house. He sat up in the grass, wincing and grabbing his ribs, and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

 

     He called Iggy first. "Hey what's goin' on," he asked through the phone when his brother picked up.

 

     "He started rambling about what he was gonna do to you and Gallagher but passed out on the couch mid-sentence," Iggy was speaking quietly like he was still in earshot of their dad.

 

     "Okay, I'm gonna head back over there. When we get off the phone, I need you to call the cops, tell em' your dad just beat the shit out of your bother, really play it up."

 

     "You sure about this, Mick? He'll kill you if he finds out." Mickey just laughed, but it turned into a groan as a clutched his ribs again.

 

     "Fucker already wants me dead. This way gets him out of the house so I can come back if I want to, but keeps Mandy safe if I don't ever come back. Just call the fucking cops, tell em' your Terry Milkovich's son. I'll be back in like ten minutes," he ordered and hung up the phone. He stood up as carefully as he could and scrolled up in his contacts, clicking Ian’s name above his brothers

 

     "Ian. Fuck man, you're gonna be mad you're ignoring me when you hear about what just fucking happened," he laughed lightly and started walking home. "I can't come look for you today though, at least not right now. I don't want to risk it so I'm gonna try to hit a few places before it gets dark later, I promise," he turned a corner and continued walking. He thought of more to talk about, not wanting to hang up yet.

 

     "I told Iggy about us. Like, fucking everything. I guess he already knew about us and seems pretty invested. I am too. I, uhm, I just came out to my dad. So, ya know, everything can be okay now. You can come back now." He took a deep breath. "Ian, I lo-" a beeping noise cut him off. Mickey pulled his phone down from his ear and stopped walking. He doesn't know how long he stood staring at his phone but all he feels is emptiness. What exactly did that mean? Did that just mean that particular message was too long and would be cut off or was the mailbox full and he wouldn't be able to leave messages anymore?

 

     He starts walking again and calls Ian back. This time, when he'd usually reached the single beep for Ian's voice mail, he was met with an automated voice; _The mailbox of_ Ian Gallagher _is full at the moment. Please call back later._ Mickey stopped walking and started at his phone again. His heart was fluttering but his stomach dropped. That recorded name was the first time Mickey's heard Ian's voice since he left him in the dugout. It was just as beautiful and light as it always was, even just a voicemail recording, and Mickey felt his eyes brimming with tears.

 

     Hearing Ian's voice and the fact that he couldn't leave messages anymore felt really final to Mickey. He didn't like the way any of this was turning out. If it wasn't for that that red light in his head that kept growing with more hope for anything Gallagher related, Mickey would've already given up. But, the light and that boy were keeping him going. The distant sound of sirens caught his attention and he pocketed his phone to run the rest of the way home. Now, he'd deal with getting his dad locked up again. Then he could worry about his next move. He felt like he was running out of time so he didn't plan on wasting another second.


	17. Chapter 17

**_ Chapter Seventeen _ **

 

 

 

 

     With Terry back in jail for breaking parole, Mickey could breathe a little easier. He could come and go from the house as he so desired. He could get his shit done without anyone breathing down his neck and it was nice. Well, Mandy and Iggy wouldn't fuck off, but he could handle them. It had only been about a week since Terry got hauled off in a cop car but the house was already adjusted to their new, free life.

 

     Mickey still had no new leads on Ian, though. He was completely out of ideas of where the fucker could be, so he had to go back to the same places he'd already been to every other day. His voicemail was still full, too, so even though Mickey still called every day, he never got to leave a message. So, he just sent more texts throughout the day.

 

     When he's walking around town from place to place his mind wanders. He thinks about how he can't believe he's going through this much trouble for anyone, especially someone who probably never wants to see him again. But, Mickey can't stop. He has this fear that Ian could've lost all his hope. Mandy had said how different he was the few times they talked, that he was a new person. If Ian didn't have that brightness around him anymore, he could've given up. He could've done something stupid and be in real trouble. Mickey had to keep searching and fighting because he had to have enough hope for the both of them now.

 

     He also needed to get Ian back. Even if he wanted nothing to do with Mickey, he needed to at least get Ian back to his family where he could be safe. But, how safe was he really if they didn't even go looking for him when he was missing? Maybe Mickey could bring Ian back to the Milkovich house, instead? If Ian wanted to be with Mickey still, they definitely could do that. And, if he just wanted nothing to do with him, he'd learn to deal with that, and still offer Gallagher a place to stay. He could just sleep in Mandy's room or something.

 

     Ian had told Mickey many times during their late-night talks that he didn't like it at his house. He felt invisible most of the time, and that nobody cared about him. Nicky understood that all too well. It’s one reason Mickey had latched on so hard to Ian, besides the whole love thing, because he made him feel less lonely and like someone cared. Ian liked hearing about his days and whatever was on his mind, and Mickey felt the same way. Maybe Ian had felt the same way, and liked spending time with Mickey because he was so good at giving Ian all his undivided attention when they were together.

 

     Ian at least had his brother, Lip, to talk to when he was around, but then he started getting so busy fucking Mandy in secret he was hardly around. Mickey must’ve been all he felt like he had, which was sad; life must be complete shit if Mickey Milkovich was your silver lining in a dark, gloomy sky. Mickey did feel bad that Ian felt that way and had to deal with that shit, especially knowing what it was like personally, but the less his family was around for Ian, the more he had come over to see Mickey. It was selfish but he never cared in the moment. He couldn't help it.

 

     Things must really be a lot worse than Ian had ever let on, though, if Mickey Milkovich was the only person in this whole damn town who seemed to be looking for him. He knew couldn't stop looking because he really did need to get Ian home, but the longer he was missing the more Mickey felt like giving up. He was really running out of options, and it was just causing him more stress and panic. This whole thing was giving him terrible heart burn.

 

     He was coming in into his house just before sunset after another lost cause of a day. He was so exhausted and just wanted to go to bed, but knew that wasn't going to happen when he saw both Iggy and Mandy were sitting at the kitchen table, both flipping through magazines. He sighed and went straight to the fridge to pull out a beer. He'd need some alcohol if he was going to deal with their dumb shit right now. He knew it was coming.

 

     "You find him?" Mandy was staring at him with so much annoyance in her eyes. Mickey just rolled his own.

 

     "Does it fucking look like it?" He came to sit at the table even though he really didn’t want to say in the room right now.

 

     "It's not that hard to find somebody. You're not fucking looking hard enough." Seriously? _Mickey_ wasn't doing enough? Mandy had only ever talked to him when she was telling him to go find Ian since she thought it was his fault. He got so annoyed with her badgering him about it, that he just gave in and told her he had been looking for him for weeks, so now she was a little softer with her brother, and began talking to him again. She may only bug him with questions on where Ian was, but at least she wasn't yelling at him anymore. But, this was just dumb as fuck.

 

     "Really, Mandy? I'm the only person out there looking for the shithead. Maybe if you could get off his brother’s dick for two fucking seconds you could lend a hand," he bit back. “Fuckin’ Mouth, Tongue, or whatever the hell his stupid name is,” he added a bit quieter, but loud enough for his sister to hear still. Mandy's mouth was hanging open and her eyes were just as wide. She didn't even have to ask how he knew for Mickey to answer. "He's known since you two first started fucking. No secret."

 

     "But how the fuck did he know? And why the fuck is he telling you my business?" Her voice was raising but she wasn't quite yelling yet. _Give it a minute_.

 

     "How the fuck should I know? Your fuckface probably told my-" he coughed loudly with wide eyes and tried to think of a quick cover to almost calling Ian _his_ fuckface. He came up empty handed. "They're brothers, Mandy, they talk," he grumbled. He stood up and grabbed his beer. "I'm going to bed. I wanna get out early tomorrow to try and hit more places." Iggy nodded but Mandy wasn't done picking a fight.

 

     "Why the fuck do you care so much about finding Ian? You really wanna beat him up again that bad?"

 

     "What the fuck Mandy? You wanted me to find him, what the fuck happened? You realized he wasn't gonna fuck you so you stopped caring?" Mandy stood up and leaned over the table on her hands to get in Mickey's face.

 

     "I'm asking why _you_ care so much, douchebag." Mickey looked between his brother and sister before settling on Iggy, eyebrows raised.

 

     "She doesn't know?"

 

     "Doesn't know what," Mandy asked, pulling back to look at both of her brothers.

 

     "Guess not," Iggy mumbled, looking up to eye his siblings, who were both standing with the hands on the table, leaning forward to get into each other’s face.

 

     "How do _you_ know but she doesn't?" He asked so angrily it was almost a yell. Iggy looked up from his gun magazine and shrugged his shoulders.

 

     "What don't I fucking know?" Mandy was yelling finally.

 

     "Him and red are boyfriends," Iggy said coolly as he turned back to his magazine.

 

     "We're not boyfriends! Jesus, how many times-"

 

     "Oh yeah, it's _complicated_. They're definitely fucking. Well they were. They're practically boyfriends." Mickey was going to kill his brother one of these days. Mickey and Mandy looked at each other. He could see the gears slowly turning in her head as realization flooded her eyes.

 

     "You're his guy? You're the asshole he never fucking shut up about?" She was still yelling. Mickey bit his whole bottom lip to keep himself from smiling. Ian really had started talking to Mandy about him? And never stopped, apparently. His heart swelled but he tried to not let his emotions show. He didn't need Mandy to start hitting him or something. But, he really couldn't help himself.

 

     "Never shut up about, huh?" He started laughing but it didn't last long because Mandy was rolling up her magazine and hitting him in the head with it. He threw his arms up in defense. "Okay okay! Knock that shit off!"

 

     "Why the hell didn't either of you tell me!" Mandy crossed her arms and started Mickey down.

 

     "Well it was none of your fucking business. Still isn't. Besides you've been fucking his brother and never told him." Mickey crossed his own arms and returned Mandy's harsh glares.

 

     "You're the reason he left, aren't you? He told me about what you said to him. I told you fucking ruined him. I just didn't know how fucking deep that ran." She shook her head and sat back down. "You really are a piece of shit. He's probably been out fucking guys to get over you. Not that there's much to get over."

 

     "Fuck you, Mandy. It wasn't like that. We weren't one sided. Stop talking about shit you don't know anything about." He turned to walk off to his bedroom.

 

     "You couldn't even tell him you fucking love him, pussy!"

 

     "Feeling it is the same as sayin’ it, isn't it?” He knew that wasn’t true, but he didn’t want to admit to his sister that he _was_ a pussy when it came to that shit. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I _do_ want to say it?" He slammed the door behind him. _God damn it, Ian_. He really had to go and tell everyone every-fucking-thing that happened. It felt nice to know Ian was talking about him to his friends, but he really wished he'd left out some of the more unsavory details; like the fact that instead of just admitting he loved Ian, he beat the shit out of him and never saw him again. He pulled Ian's picture out from his back pocket and looked at it for a minute before putting it on the dresser next to him. He rested his back against his bedroom door and gulped the rest of his beer.

 

     Mandy said he was probably the reason Ian ran away. That sounds about right. He most likely wanted to get as far away from Mickey as he could, for lord knows how long. Who knows what he was doing. Mickey snapped his head forward and straightened up against the door. _Mandy_ knew. Mandy knew what he was doing. She had said he was probably out fucking guys. Kash said hadn't seen him, so he probably went to the other old men from those clubs he used to talk about. _The clubs_. Of _fucking_ course. How could he have forgotten about the clubs? He should've gone there the second he realized Ian was missing.

 

     He dropped his beer can on his carpet and ripped his door open, rounding on Mandy again, who was still at the table. "The clubs. The clubs he used to go to, when he was fucking old dudes. You know where they are?" Mandy looked up at him with a confused look on her face but nodded.

 

     "Yeah, in Boystown. I don't know any specific names, we usually went club hopping until someone noticed him." Mickey hated that there was ever a time where Ian was like that. Where he had to go out seeking attention and affection in unsafe places because he wasn't getting it from the right people. Mickey smiled at his sister. He grabbed her face, tilted it down, and kissed the top of her head.

 

     "I fucking love you." He ran back into his room to grab his picture of Ian again, and shoved it in his back pocket. He was halfway back to the front door when Mandy called to him.

 

     "See! Wasn't so hard! You really couldn't have said it to him?" Mickey just threw a middle finger behind him and continued running out the door. His body was so flooded with hope and possibility he had no room for worry or anger. He'd go to Boystown and go through all the clubs until he found Ian. He _had_ to be there. Or maybe he'd already gone home with someone. But, there had to be someone who'd seen him in the past months. There just _had_ to be.

 

 

⁂

 

 

     The sun was fully set by the time Mickey made it to the heart of Boystown; he hoped that helped his cause. Ian probably came out here after dark, so maybe he'd still be able to find Ian in the flesh and wouldn't have to keep coming back here every night. Mickey hated this part of town. Everyone was loud and drunk. A good portion the population were half clothed or less. The only bright side ( _damnit, Ian_ ) was he didn't have to wait in the long lines to get into the loud clubs. The men in line would push him forward until he was at the front of the line, and the bouncers always let him in. There were so many old fucks around here, they were probably just happy for the young blood.

 

     All the clubs were completely useless. It was so loud and sweaty inside Mickey felt his anger raise higher every second he was in the buildings. He'd get inside, search the dimly lit area for anyone resembling a manager or owner and ask them questions. None of the men seemed to understand the urgency of the matter, though. They weren't able to recall ever seeing a redhead man in their entire lifetimes, not even the photo he showed them of Ian. Nothing would work, unless of course he was offering up money. All the managers he met with got their face slammed down on to the nearest surface and Mickey left. He didn't have time for this bullshit. If Ian was in the area, who knew how long he'd be there. Every other building he walked into went the exactly same.

 

     He hadn't wanted to give in to the bribes on the first night, not if he was going to have to come back every night for an indefinite amount of time. But, after a week, he had to, he didn’t have any choice. He went through his new routine at the clubs, only this time, when he pulled out the photo of Ian, he also pulled out fifty bucks (he had tried twenty but apparently information on missing persons didn't come cheap around here). Luckily, he only had to shell out cash for three clubs.

 

     The breaded man held out one hand for the bribe and immediately pocketed the cash. "Curtis. He comes in about ten on weekends, midnight on weekdays. You always just miss him." The man began to turn away but Mickey pulled him back by the collar of his flannel.

 

     "Curtis? Who the fuck is Curtis?" The man nodded to the photo and then pointed somewhere behind Mickey into the crowd.

 

     "Red. He's somewhere over there." The man looked Mickey up and down and smirked darkly. “Not really his type, are ya?” Mickey raised his eyebrows and pulled his head back.

 

     “Excuse me?” The man just shrugged.

 

     “Little young for him, don’t ya think? His usual criteria are grey hair and bad hips.” He licked his top lip and let his eyes wander down Mickey’s body again. “I, on the other hand, like ‘em a little younger.” Mickey just blinked a few times, not really knowing what to say or even what was happening. It finally clicked in his head, and he let go of the man’s shirt, and pushed him back. He turned around without another look at the guy and looked down at the photo of Ian and frowned. Curtis? He turned to look where they guy had pointed and froze.

 

     When he had entered the bouncing club that night, Mickey was sure he'd end up knocking out the first asshole to look at him the wrong away because he was just too on edge and really over all this shit. It wasn't someone looking at him, but he definitely was about to send his fist into a couple guys’ skull. He had only swept his eyes halfway through the packed club when he felt his stomach drop. Against a far wall of couches were a few men getting lap dances from little twinks in nothing but tight golden shorts and tiny fake ties. Among all of the crowd was Ian _fucking_ Gallagher. He was sitting on one of the overly plush couches, surrounded by a bunch of men who looked three times his weight and at least twice his age. One of the men were particularly close to Ian, holding his hand on his knee tightly, and running it up his thigh slowly, his other arm wrapped around Ian’s broad shoulders. Ian was just chatting away happily with some of the other mean around their little table, laughing with a false brightness that didn’t reach his eyes, and made Mickey sick.

 

     The man moved his hand into his pocket and was pulling something small out. Mickey wasn't even thinking when he started off to the group, pushing the picture back into his pocket. By the time he made he made it over to the couch, the man had two pills between his fingers and was raising them to drop them on to Ian's waiting tongue.

 

     "Party's over, chief," Mickey spoke loudly over the booming music and grabbed tightly around the man's wrist. Ian's whole body froze and his head snapped to Mickey's direction. Mickey mentally steadied himself before looking at Ian. He hated what he saw. His eyes were dull and empty eyes. His lips looked dry and his cheeks hollowed. His clothes looked dirty and stained. He looked sick and fragile and Mickey wanted to puke. "Get up, Ian," he said as calmly as possible while still holding some authority. Ian immediately stood up and took a step away from the couch, bumping into the table, and looking around for a way out of the barrier of men, and eventually sidestepping his way out, and coming to stand behind Mickey and the man he was still grasping. He crossed his hands over the front of his tight jeans and looked down at the ground.

 

     Mickey pulled the man on the couch up by the wrist and began walking him back away from the couch. "What the hell do you think you're doing? He’s comin’ home with me," he said as Mickey started pushing him away.

 

     "Why don't you go spend some time thinking about your life choices, huh? Decide how you feel about yourself after trying to take a teenage boy home to fuck you." He gave the man another shove and turned back to Ian. They had to leave. He needed to get them both out of this shit hole. "Hey," he said as calmly as he could manage over the music, "we gotta get you outta here. Okay? Okay, Ian?" He had both hands on Ian's shoulders and shook him lightly until he lifted his head.

 

     "I'm busy." He sounded so broken and empty, Mickey couldn't even be happy to hear his voice again, he was just sad. He just shook his head.

 

     “Busy doin’ fuckin’ what, man? Fuckin' old dudes again?” Ian tilted his head and Mickey saw a glimmer of something he didn’t recognize from him, but hated instantly.

 

     “Sometimes.” He nodded his head back where Mickey had before, talking to the manager. “They let me dance sometimes, too, make a little extra money.” Mickey started at Ian, confused on what was happening.

 

     “What, you pippin’ yourself out or something?” Ian tipped his head from side to side and Mickey’s stomach dropped. This can’t be happening.

 

     “If they wanna pay me for a dance, I let them, if they want to pay me for sex, I let them.” Ian shrugged. Mickey shook his head and tried again to get Ian to leave with him.

 

     "No, come on, man. We gotta talk, gotta get you home." Ian's whole demeanor changed and he didn't seem as empty anymore. He found his energy and his voice sounded like there was more to it, but it all seemed fake.

 

     "Wanna talk, gotta buy a dance." Mickey raised his eyebrows. "Twenty-five a song."

 

     "Are you fucking kidding me?" Ian shrugged and looked around.

 

     "You lost me a decent paying costumer tonight. Need money to live, _Mick_." He tilted his head to the side and gave Mickey what he could only imagine would normally be a playful look. Everything in Mickey broke at the sound of his name leaving Ian’s dry lips; he didn’t stand a chance. He huffed and reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

 

     "Never had to pay for your ass before," he said as he pulled out fifty bucks. Ian grabbed his hips and walked him backwards towards an empty section of a couch, and pushed him onto it. "You're really costin' me a lot of money this week just to fucking talk to you."

 

     "I'm worth it though," he smiled coldly. Mickey held out the money for Ian, who just looked down and stuck his crouch out a bit. He looked up at Ian.

 

     "God fucking damnit, Ian," he grumbled so quietly there was no way Ian heard it over the music. He sat forward and pulled on the waistband of Ian's jeans, just enough to slip the money in. He kept his hands on his hips though, slipping them under his dark t-shirt and rubbing his thumbs over the bones on either side, not being able to help himself. He missed the feel of Ian's skin under his own. Ian came forward and slid into Mickey's lap, grinding down harshly. He dipped his head so his lips were next to his left ear and the warm breath sent chills all over his body.

 

     "You're not supposed touch the dancers," he said quietly. Like fuck he was about to let go of Ian now; he just got him back. Mickey just tightened his grip on the redhead.

 

     "But you can take mystery drugs from strangers? And you’re not even a fuckin’ dancer, so shut the fuck up." Mickey turned his head to speak into Ian's ear. Ian shrugged and stood up, turned around, and sat down on Mickey's lap. He was rubbing his back all over Mickey's front and continued to grind down into him. Mickey never took his hands off Ian's slim hips. He couldn’t focus properly with all the gyrating. "Fuck, Ian, I can't talk to you like this."

 

     "So, stop talking," Ian practically purred. He lolled his hand back so it was next to Mickey's and closed his eyes.

 

     "When are you done here for the night, man?"

 

     "Whenever I find someone to go home with." Mickey's brows furrowed and he frowned deeply. He didn't like the sound of that. He shifted as much as he could under Ian’s weight and tried to sit up straighter.

 

     "Okay, well come home with me," he said lightly, almost breathlessly. Mickey just wanted to get Ian back home, either of their homes, and just tuck him into a room bed and curl up beside him.

 

     "No thanks." Ian stood up and began to walk away, like nothing had just happened, it almost gave Mickey whiplash. Mickey jumped up and pulled him back by his arm.

 

     "I bought two songs, we're not done here,” he said with less anger and more desperation than he was hoping.

 

     "Yeah, well, I am," Ian sneered and went to pull his arm back but Mickey just tightened his grip.

 

     "Come on, Ian, just come home with me, we'll get you to bed and-"

 

     "I don't want to fucking go anywhere with you!" Ian yelled and finally pulled his arm back. Mickey saw a fire in his eyes he's never seen from the soft boy before, and it scares him.

 

     "Then go home to your family.” Mickey stood up and leveled with Ian, a harsh look cloud his blurry eyes. “You don't want to hang out with me anymore, that's fine, but your family's worried, Ian. You need to see them." He can't stay here any longer. He noticed a bouncer headed over the them and gave Ian one more sad look. He shook his head and turned around, headed straight for the nearest exit.

 

     When he hits the May air, he realizes he's sweating. He didn't know if it was from the amount of body heat in the club, the lap dance, or fighting with Ian. It was probably a gross mixture of it all. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the outside wall of the club. Ian really had changed. He was selling his body in nasty, sweaty dances, and sex with strangers, taking drugs from said strangers, and going home with whoever was going to cash out the most.

 

     When he composed himself, and was breathing at a regular pace again, Mickey started walking towards the L to go home. Ian didn't look or act like the same person and he hated it. It probably really was his fault, he could see that now. Why did he ever have to develop feelings for Ian Gallagher and why did he ever have to act on them? How many times had he said he never wanted to hurt Ian? And how many fucking times was he gonna keep hurting him? He hated himself so damn much for doing this to Ian.

 

     Ian clearly didn't want to see him, and Mickey didn't really want to see Ian like this, but he still needed to know what he was doing and if he was safe. The whole ride until he reached his stop, Mickey thought about his options. He could just never go back to the club, let Ian fuck off and just never see him again, end this for good. That wasn't going to happen. He tried ending things with Ian, in his head and in real life, enough times to know he couldn't stay away. He could go to the club every night, keep his distance, but watch Ian. He could make sure he didn't do anything stupid, and stop him if he did. That wasn't really ideal for him though. He didn't want to have to watch Ian dancing with strangers and leaving with others.

 

     He could just go a couple nights a week. But, what if something happened on a night Mickey wasn't there? He'd have to just suck it up and go every night. He didn't have any plans otherwise, so what was the big deal? He could sit at home and stress himself out about what Ian was doing and if he was okay, or he could just be at the club and supervise him. He was going to be drinking either way, so what did it matter where he was doing it?

 

     He yawned as he finally entered his house. He'd probably want to nap tomorrow so he could make it through a whole shift of Ian watch; however long that would take. Mandy looked unmoved from where he had left her earlier that night. But Iggy was gone. She was smoking a joint and watching tv from the kitchen table. "Find him?" She asked tiredly.

 

     "Yeah. Fuckers been pippin’ himself out at one of the clubs." He grabbed the joint from his sister’s mouth and sat in the chair beside her. He inhaled the smoke deeply before continuing. "Taking whatever drugs people offer him, gargling old man balls. He picks random people he sees there to fucking leave with every night. Some sick fuck is gonna gut him and we're gonna see his fuckin’ body on the five o'clock news in a week." He handed Mandy the rest of her spliff and sighed. He rested his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands. "Dumb fuck really is gonna get himself killed."

 

     "What're you gonna do?" She spoke softly and sounded sad. She was probably just as worried as Mickey was. He shook his head and lifted himself from his hands, leaning back in the creaky chair and crossed his arms.

 

     "I don't know. I tried to get him to come back with me, but he said he didn't want to go anywhere with me. I told him that's fine but to go see his family and I left," he sighed, "I'm gonna go down there every night. I know his schedule. Then I can fucking watch him and make sure he really doesn't end up in a body bag.”

 

     "Think he'll go home?" Mickey shook his head and shrugged.

 

     "I don't know." The Ian he saw tonight was unlikely to go back to his family anytime soon. "You were right. I really fucked him up." Mandy sighed and stood up.

 

     "Just keep an eye on him. Seriously, don't let him get killed," she yawned. She offered brother a small smile and patted his back as she was off to bed. Mickey stayed at the table a bit longer, thinking. This mess would all be so much easier if he didn't have that red, Ian part of his brain, which over the years had slowly grew, but big banged in the almost year since he started things with Ian.

 

     _A year_. How had time slipped through his fingers so quickly? When him and Ian had first begun 'seeing' each other, he was always so caught up in the fact that he was getting to know so much about the guy that he actually fell in love with that he eventually stopped thinking something bad could happen, or what would happen if something bad _did_ happen. He was an idiot to have ever thought otherwise. Almost a year and Mickey thought they'd never make it back to where they were. But if they didn't, too fucking bad. He'd have to get Ian back to his family, safe, and stay out of his life for good. That would probably be the hardest thing he'd ever have to do.

 

     Mickey stood up from the table and pulled his picture of Ian out of his pocket as he walked into his room. He set the photo down on his bed before going into the bathroom to pee and shed his clothes. He stopped in front of the mirror on his way out and could barely recognize the man staring back at him. In the short time he was 'with' Ian, he'd grown accustomed to looking happy and healthy, like all the good he felt inside was seeping out and changing how he looked. He liked it. He also liked when Ian would tell him how good he looked, how happy he looked.

 

     Now, he looks like he's gone through the same bad transformation that Ian has. They've both been on drugs, Mickey hasn't been sleeping well, he knows Ian probably hasn't either. He barely eats. He just looks and feels like shit. He pulls himself from his mirror and climbs into bed. He laid on his left side and places Ian's picture on top of what Mickey still thought of as Ian's pillow and slowly drifted to sleep. His right arm was draped in the space his ginger should be in.


	18. Chapter 18

**_ Chapter Eighteen _ **

 

 

 

 

     "Here's your usual, Mickey," the man behind the bar said over the pounding beat of the club, and slid a glass of whiskey to Mickey across the bar top. Mickey nodded to the bartender with a tight-lipped smile, and turned around to walk to his post not wasting time with pleasantries or even looking at anyone he passed. He stood up against the railing just before the pit for the dancers and took a large gulp of the amber liquid in his glass.

 

     It was super crowded tonight, it must've been some special night or there was an event going on, al Mickey knows is that he hates how he’s able to tell what a ‘busy night’ is for this establishment. When he settled himself against the cool, metal railing, he found Ian quickly enough, he usually did. He'd been on Ian duty for a couple weeks now, and while the redhead never tried to talk to Mickey, he did notice that after about the first week, Ian had started dancing on stage more, and was even in a uniform sometimes, and began dancing on platforms that where closer to where Mickey would stand. He hadn’t been dancing with or talking to guys around the club as often as he used to, and Mickey didn’t know how to feel about it. He was glad that it seemed to be a safer situation for him, but he hated seeing Ian up on display in skimpy, gold shorts for so many wandering, unkind eyes.

 

     He did still go out into the crowds and mingle and take any drugs offered. He did still get too friendly with old scumbags on the couches. He did still take men by their hands and lead them to some over-shadowed part of the club, where Mickey could only assume hid some sort of VIP situation where Ian fucked his costumers. Walking into the club every night, Mickey never knew if he was going to get Ian in a mood where he just danced in front of him all night, or one where he was practically bouncing off the walls and talking to every person in the building except him. Sometimes he'd look at Mickey while he was moving and rolling his body, but not for long, and usually with dark, deadened eyes. He hadn't looked over at Mickey tonight at all, but maybe that was for the best.

 

     It was always harder to let Ian leave with some guy in the crowed at the end of the night when they had been making eyes at each other for hours, especially with the tension in the air. Mickey was distracted by the way Ian’s back muscles could be seen flexing and pulling under the tight t-shirt he was currently wearing, he hadn't even noticed someone come to stand against the railing with him. "Hey," a man said into his ear, "come here often?" Mickey took a step back to eye the guy. He was the most basic looking guy Mickey had ever laid eyes on; average height, average weight, short, wavy, brown hair and hazel eyes.

 

     "Fuck no," he snorted and faced forward again, his eyes drifting back to where Ian was now sitting, practically in the lap of some nervous, sweaty guy. At least he was keeping his clothes on tonight.

 

     "Really? 'Cause I've seen you here every time I've been here for, like, the past month." Mickey turned back to the guy and leaned his left side against the railing, brows raised.

 

     "You fuckin' stalking me or something?" The guy’s eyes widened and he started shaking his head so fast he had to have gotten dizzy, Mickey sure did.

 

     "No, no, I just mean I've seen you around. You're cute, wanted to come talk to you." That made Mickey narrow his eyes now, because what was this jackass trying to get out here? And, would people stop fucking calling him cute? And, why did this fucker want to talk to him? And, why did this hit have to happen to Mickey? And-

 

     "Why? About what," Mickey asked lamely. The guy just laughed at his confusion.

 

     "I'm Jake," he introduced himself and stuck his hand out. Of fucking _course_ this dudes name _would_ be _Jake_. Mickey looked down at Jake's hand and back up at his face. _Jake_ got the hint and pulled his hand back. "Well, uh, do you want to dance or get out of here, or, just, do anything but stare at me like you're gonna kill me?" Mickey just continued staring, eyebrows perched as ever. "Okay, well," he spoke slowly and leaned in to whisper in Mickey's ear, "I'll be around. I'm really fun, too." He bit Mickey's ear lobe, pulled back and walked away before Mickey could shove him off. Fuckin' _Jake_. He huffed and turned back to the dance platforms. He rubbed his ear with his shoulder to get the slobber off. _Fuckin' gross._

 

     When he looked back up to the closest stage, not only was Ian standing on the edge of the lit platform, but was staring right at Mickey. He wasn't dancing or moving at all; just staring. He looked paler than usual and his face almost looked sad; he looked like he’d seen a ghost. He must've seen the exchange between him and Jake. _Fuck_. The last thing Mickey wanted was for Ian to think he was moving on or anything. He knew it would probably be best if he did, but he couldn't. Ian could do what he wanted, but Mickey was still in this; he couldn’t help it. He was too fucking invested in the fuck. Ian's face hardened and he turned around to stomp off the platform. _Fuckin' Jake!_

 

     Mickey tried to follow Ian's moves with his eyes, through the crowd and where he was going, but he eventually lost him in the masses. He sighed and went to sit at the bar for the rest of night. It was already a long night, and now he needed another drink. “What the fuck about me looks like I wanna a bunch of fags comin’ up me and lickin’ my fuckin’ ear?” he gritted when he slammed his empty glass on the bar. Mike, the barman, laughed and got to making another drink.

 

     “Don’t know, man. Maybe s’got somethin’ to do with you bein’ at a gay club.” Mickey shook his head and sat down on one of the stools.

 

     “And that’s an invitation to shove your tongue in my ear?” Mickey scoffed.

 

     “It is in Boystown,” Mike shrugged and busied himself with cleaning some dirty glasses from the other end of the bar. “But, don’t say me. You’re not my type.” Mickey genuinely laughed over his whiskey.

 

     “ _You_ have a type? You turn in on for every damn guy that walks through those doors. Mike shook his head and huffed a laugh.

 

     “That’s how I make my tips, man.”

 

     “Yeah, okay.” Mickey turned in his seat while Mike left to attend to other drinkers, and went about scoping the place out some more, but with no such luck. To no avail, Mickey spent his whole night drinking and searching. He never left the bar, though. If Ian was out there somewhere doing shit with a dude, he didn’t need or want to see it. He’d find him eventually; he always did.

 

     It was another two hours before Mickey finally caught sight of Ian again. By that point, he was ready to call it a night, thinking Ian had already snuck out, and already very drunk. Except, Ian _definitely_ wasn't trying sneak out. Mickey stood up from the bar, albeit a little wobbly, to give the club a last once over when he saw Ian headed for the front exit, which he never used. He had his hand intertwined with some guy. Mickey could only see the back of the guy, but he looked younger than the guys Ian usually left with, by like fucking twenty years. Ian was taking slow strides to the door and looking around. He was probably looking for Mickey, making sure he saw him leaving with someone.

 

     Mickey's stomach wouldn’t stop twisting, not even when the pair finally disappeared through the door. If Ian wasn’t gonna stick around, neither was he. He chugged the rest of his beer and paid his nightly tab, nodding farewell to Mike on his way. He waited ten minutes before heading out the front door, to make sure that Ian and his guy were gone and he wouldn't run into them. He was more tired than usual so decided to hail a cab to take him home instead of the L, wasting no time getting himself home and in bed. It was a sad routine to have, but it was his. He just didn't know how much longer he could to this.

 

     The whole way home, all he could think about was the look on Ian's face when he saw him talking to fucking Jake. He actually looked devastated, and then just ran off. And why had he left with a guy that actually seemed his age? Maybe he thought Mickey was moving on and was trying to show that he could, too. He hated seeing their hands connected like they were. The sight made his stomach churn and his head ache. That should be _him_.

 

     It was never easy seeing Ian like this, and it never really got _easier_ , but tonight was exceptionally rough. He felt so drained, and for the first time in his life, Mickey wasn't looking forward to seeing Ian tomorrow. He didn’t want to see that knowing glint in his dull eyes or the glow of his pale skin, evidence screaming at Mickey that Ian was getting it from somewhere else, and getting it good. Probably better than it ever had been with him.

 

     What the hell was Mickey doing? Wasting his time on some douchebag who flaunted his shit in front of him like that? He had to stop. Ian was coming back to him. He needed to just let him fuck off and do what he wanted. But, he couldn’t.

 

 

⁂

 

 

     The obnoxiously loud ringtone of Mickey's phone woke him up long before he was ready to get up. Who the fuck could need him this early in the damn morning? He felt like he hadn’t been asleep long, so what time was it really? He almost just let it keep ringing but it was annoying as hell so he blindly searched for it on the bedside table. When he finally got ahold of it and squinted at the bright screen his eyes widened and he bolted up to answer the call immediately. "Ian? Hello? Ian are you there? Fuck." There was no answer, but he didn’t really wait for one, he just hung up and called again, too impatient for this. He held his breath and mentally chanted 'come on, come on, come on.'

 

     "Hey, Mick." Mickey exhaled loudly and closed his eyes. It didn’t matter how broken or weak he sounded, _no one’s_ voice was as beautiful as Ian’s. It was like an angel sighing or a light and gentle score being played on a violin, or some other gay shit. It was just made Mickey feel so at home and peaceful; a new calm rushing over him in an almost cool sweat, before he started panicking again. Why would Ian be calling him? Now?

 

     "Where the fuck are you?" He spoke softly, trying to stay cool. He waited long enough to talk to and see Ian in better circumstances, he wasn't waiting another second. Mickey needed this.

 

     "I'm-I'm at some motel. Uhm, I'm not really sure where. I'll have to ask someone. I-the guy I- all my shits gone and- he's gone and so s’all my shit. And he-he- I didn't wanna call you ‘cause I figured you didn't want me to, but, I don't have anyone else I can call, Mick. And I- I-"

 

     "Hey, hey calm down, Ian. I'm here, okay?" He tried to keep his voice even to help Ia, who was clearly just as shaky as he was, but it was hard. Ian was calling him, Ian was in _trouble_ , Ian sounded so small and weak. "Go to the front desk and ask where you are, okay? Get a fuckin' address or whatever the fuck," he stood up and started gathering his clothes and belongings to get dressed. "You're gonna stay on the phone with me, okay? Stay on the phone until I get there, got it?"

 

     "Yeah, Mick, okay." God, he missed hearing Ian say his name. He heard shuffling on Ian's end and pulled his shoes on. Ian was probably headed to the front desk, so he ducked out of his room to look for either Iggy or the car keys. Luckily, the keys had been tossed on the kitchen table so he wouldn't have to go wake up his brother, and could just leave without going through this shit with him right now. "Mickey?" He turned his attention back to Ian through the phone.

 

     "I'm here,” Mickey said as he dug through the shit on the table for a pen and paper.

 

     "I'm at the Ohio House Motel. It's on North LaSalle Drive." Mickey nodded along and wrote down the address on a ribbed page from some magazine.

 

     "Do you need me to bring you anything?" He grabbed his sweater from the back of the couch.

 

     "No, just-just you, Mick." Mickey closed his eyes and sighed quietly. Now was not the time to get flustered.

 

     "Okay, okay. I'm headed out the door right now, don't hang up." He practically ran to the car and started it. It was still pretty dark outside; the sun hadn't quite stared to raise yet. Mickey still didn't know what time it was but he couldn't have left the club more than a few hours ago. He put Ian on speaker and turned the volume up on the phone before dropping it into the cup holder in the center console and started driving as fast as he could without being suspicious. They were silent for most of Mickey's ride, save for Mickey telling him how close he was every so often or ask if Ian was still there.

 

     There was a ringing and rushing in Mickey’s ears and his hands were sweaty. This felt like a lot. He was on his way to go see Ian and he didn’t know what was going to happen. Ian needed him, and that’s all that mattered. Ian needing him kept his eyes on the road and his foot on the gas pedal. No one was there for Ian when he needed it, Mickey knew that, but _Mickey_ was always there. He wasn’t going anywhere, not again.

 

     After what felt like an eternity, Mickey was pulling up to the Northside motel. "Okay I'm- " he stopped talking when he saw Ian stand up from the curb and his heart stopped beating. He put the car in park but left it running and jumped out; he just needed to get to him. Ian took two steps forward but Mickey met him most of the way. "Are you okay? Why the fuck are you out here? You're fucking freezing," Mickey rushed. "What the fuck happened to your face?" His voice was raising, soaked in worry and now anger. It was hard to see in the dim lights of the street lamps, but Ian's face definitely housed some cuts and bruises that weren't there earlier that night. Micky brought his shaky hands up to cup Ian's face like it was second nature; his movements both sure but nervous. He didn’t know how Ian would react. Ian smiled lightly and lifted his hands to hold Mickey's wrists. Ian was shaking and Mickey doesn't think it's just because of the low temperatures.

 

     "The guy at the desk wouldn't fucking let me back into the room because I'm not the one who paid for the it and the fucker who _did_ left. I'm okay. And, I'm cold because it's cold out here." He was dancing around the topic of his face. Mickey let it go for the moment and rolled his eyes. He shrugged off his sweater and handed it to Ian. "You're so small, you really think this is gonna fit?"

 

     "Fuck off." Like no time had passed. "Come on, get in the fucking car, let's go." He waited for Ian to start walking so he wouldn't have to take his eyes off the ginger. He still didn't look like his usual self, but he definitely looked better than the last time they spoke, minus the bruises. And like fuck if he didn't look good in Mickey's hoodie, which fit him just fine, _thank you_ , because Mickey was not _that_ small (and he sized up on sweaters and jackets, but, a technicality).

 

     "It's still early, is anyone at your house awake?" Mickey asked after they were back on the road to their part of town.

 

"Probably not. Uhm, can I just go home with you? I get if not but-"

 

     "Yeah. No, yeah you can come home with me." He felt Ian staring at him from the passenger's seat, but kept his eyes on the road. He knew the longer he stared at Ian the more likely he was to just let lose all his emotions and thoughts from the past couple months, or maybe he’d end up driving them out of the state and ruin away together. Of _course_ he'd take him to his house; he didn't ever want to leave his side again. "I'll take you home after you've slept.”

 

     “I can walk home, Mick,” Ian laughed, but Mickey shook his head.

 

     “No, I will. Your families fucking worried, man." He could feel Ian’s smile drop with his words and it hurt.

 

     "I know," Ian whispered. He coughed and shifted in his seat. "I, uh, I wanted to talk to you, too. I think we need to." Mickey's whole body tensed. He knew it was coming but he couldn't do it yet. He still needed time.

 

     "After, okay? After I get you home. Later. Don't- don't worry about it right now." Mickey took a deep breath. He knew Ian was wanting to let Mickey down and tell him he didn't want him anymore. He knew the second they had the 'talk' that any hope or chance he thought he had to get Ian back and be happy with him would be shot to shit. He just got back to thinking about being with Ian again, he was ready to destroy that right this second. Besides, there were more pressing matters than the state of their 'relationship.' "What happened tonight, Ian?" He still looked and sounded shaken up and the bruises and dried blood weren't helping his case.

 

     "Can we talk about it later?" Mickey shook his head and laughed darkly. After weeks and weeks of searching and babysitting his ass, Ian really wasn’t going to tell him anything? _Ian_ called _Mickey_ for help.

 

     "Whatever." The rest of the ride was mostly silent. Mikey had insisted on going through a drive thru and buying Ian food because he needed to eat. He kept glancing over at Ian, who was either staring at his lap or back at Mickey the whole time. It was so weird in the car. The sun had almost fully raised by the time they were getting out of the car and entering the Milkovich house. Ian hesitated at the front door, though, and Mickey noticed. "Terry's not here. And he won't be showing up again." He gabbed Ian's hand and quietly led him to his room. They stood awkwardly in the room and stared at each other. "I'll-I'll sleep on the couch, you can have the bed. If you need-"

 

     "Will you stay? Please don't go, Mick." How was he supposed to resist? He nodded and closed and locked his door slowly. He started shedding his clothes but stopped when he saw Ian not following suit.

 

     "We won't do anything, okay? We're gonna talk and then we're gonna sleep. That's it." He kept his shirt on to help convince Ian.

 

     He nodded but looked down at his feet. "Don't- don't freak out, okay?" Mickey raised his eyebrows and flipped on his bedroom light. He stepped closer to Ian. He had a really bad feeling about what Ian was hiding under clothes. He hadn’t seen Ian’s body at the club tonight, since he was in normal clothes, but he had an inkling he was sporting some new marks that hadn’t been there before, were he able to have seen the skin hours ago.

 

     "What did he do?" Ian slowly stripped himself down to nothing but his boxers. His whole torso was littered in fresh bruises. "Ian," Mickey breathed. He ghosted his hand over Ian's body and was grateful he was letting him touch him. He looked up and saw tears in the young man's eyes. "Hey," he whispered, "come lay down, talk to me." He led Ian to his spot on the bed and turned the light back off, then got them both under the covers. They laid on their backs, and the second they had settled in, Ian was grabbing Mickey's hand under the blanket and playing with his fingers. Except for the weirdness in the air, everything felt normal again. Being in bed with Ian, hand in hand, it was Mickey's favorite place; this is where he felt the happiest, the safest.

 

     They both started up at the dark ceiling while Ian was probably collecting his thoughts, but then he found his start. "That guy you were talking to at the club," he finally croaked, "I got really mad. I didn't like seeing you talking to him. So, I went and found him. He seemed interested enough, booked a VIP room for a while. And I told him I wanted to leave with him, but just ‘cause I didn't want him fucking leaving with you. And everything seemed fine. But he wanted to fuck and I didn't and he just kept pushing and getting mad and touching me and I finally pushed him off and was grabbing my shit to leave. B-but he just lost it. It wasn't so bad. I've had worse. But I didn't know where I was or what to do." His voice was getting shaky. _Fuckin' Jake_. He was going to kill the next man he met with that stupid name.

 

     "You're never going back to that fucking club," Mickey said simply and sharply. He squeezed Ian's hand and turned his head to look at him. Ian nodded softly.

 

     "I-I was sleeping with the guys I'd leave with at first, I had to. That was the only way I could make money. They were aggressive and we were always high, so even if I didn’t want to, I still did it. When you came to the club that first time, I stopped. That night. Drugs, I mean. It was miserable at first but I had to stop. You made me stop." Mickey nodded. He understood that well.

 

     "When you first left, I didn't know you were gone yet, but I was in a real bad place. I was so fucking depressed and eventually I started helping Terry out more. But, I was doing so much fucking coke and shit every day. I felt like I needed it. And, uh, it was you, too, for me, that made me stop. Mandy was telling me about how she hadn't fucking seen you in months and that when you talked it was weird. That was the first day I went out looking for you. And I just didn't stop." He closed his eyes when Ian gripped his hand tightly and rested his head against Mickey's. He missed this. Missed his warmth. Missed his scent. Missed Ian.

 

     "What _did_ happen to Terry?" Ian whispered.

 

   "Didn't you get my fucking voice mails and texts? I called you every fuckin' day, man. Told you everything.” Ian shook his head and looked guilty.

 

     "No, I- I usually kept my phone in my backpack or something, so I never really go anything. I wanted to block your number but I wanted to know you still cared enough to text and call. I don’t know. I never checked my phone though, so it wouldn’t have matter, I don’t know why I bothered." That made Mickey feel like complete shit but he just nodded again. He probably deserved it so maybe he shouldn't be so mad. Mickey had so fucking much to tell Ian and talk to him about.

 

     “Why’d you go out and do that shit, Ian,” Mickey asked quietly and closed his eyes.

 

     “I don’t know,” Ian sighed, “I had to get out, ya know? I was just mad and sad and shit, so I went out to the clubs to have a good time and started sleeping around again. But I never went home and stopped showing up to work because these guys were just getting me high all the time. Someone said something about being willing to pay for me and I took off running with it.” Ian sighed and nuzzled his head closer to Mickey’s. “I didn’t even think about that shit I just did it ‘cause I needed money and I was so fucked up all the time.” Mickey opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling. He hadn’t directly said this was his fault, but he knew Ian blamed him, too.

 

     “You can’t do that shit.” Mickey’s voice was still just above a whisper. “ _That_ shit, and running away, and- you just can’t. Okay? You got people runnin’ around and worryin’ about you like a bunch of bitches.” Mickey knew it was only him that he was talking about, but he wasn’t about to tell Ian that nobody went out looking for him. He just wanted to stay here with Ian and never leave his bed.

 

     “I’m sorry, Mickey,” Ian whispered. Mickey sat up a bit and looked down at Ian like he was stupid.

 

     “Don’t say that shit. Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for.” He furrowed his brows and looked harder at Ian’s soft features. He lowered himself back down and let Ian rest his head back on his left shoulder. “I-I’m sorry.”

 

     “For what. You didn’t-“ Mickey shook his head.

 

     "Yeah I did. Just- add that to the list of shit to talk about tomorrow, okay? Or today, or what the fuck ever." The weird time of waking up and going back to bed was messing with him. "You need to get some sleep now, okay? We've got time to catch up, Gallagher." Ian sighed but stayed quiet. Realization that this would truly be the last night Mickey got to spend with Ian started sinking in and it made him sick. Come morning, they’d have the ‘talk’ Ian wanted, and it’d all be over. Mickey ruined his life, why would he stay with that? He was scared and in shock, so he was letting Mickey comfort him tonight, but it wouldn’t last. Ian didn’t want Mickey anymore. He fucked up to the point beyond repair.

 

     All he could was try to savor this. Laying in bed with Ian, feeling his warmth radiating off him, like Ian’s soul itself was reaching out from his body to try to and reach Mickey and hold him. He stayed awake for a while, after Ian finally drifted to sleep; listening to Ian’s breathing and rubbing his thumb over his hand where they were still intertwined on Ian's stomach. _Look on the bright side_ , the Ian part of his brain told him, _at least you'll always have memories_. _Not good enough_.


	19. Chapter 19

**_ Chapter Nineteen _ **

 

 

 

 

     It was already after five that night when Mickey finally woke up, groggy and confused at first. He sat up and looked down at Ian's sleeping form and just couldn’t take his eyes off him. Memories flooded back to him soon enough; not just from the night before, but from over the course of the past however many months they had been doing whatever the fuck it was they had been doing. They once had such a beautiful thing going for them.

 

     _This_ was what Mickey got to see on a decently regular basis; Ian sleeping in his bed like this. He was rolled over on his right side, facing Mickey, with a slight crease between his brows. Mickey hoped whatever Ian could be dreaming about right now was something happy and peaceful. His lips were parted, his hair was a mess, and Mickey could see the bruises better now with the late afternoon sunlight filling up the room. It didn't look as bad as it could've, but it definitely left Mickey's stomach in knots. How could someone do that to Ian?  _Oh yeah_. _He_ did. Is this what he looked like when Mickey left him on the field months ago? He winced lightly at the painful thought.

 

     There were so many things he still wanted to do with and say to Ian, but he’d ruin any chance at that. He wanted to hold his hand more. He wanted to kiss him again, they never kissed enough. He missed how Ian felt and tasted. He wanted to take Ian out somewhere, doing something special for him. He wanted to get him to fuckin’ Mexico one day. He wanted to tell Ian he loved him. Mickey once had hopes and dreams of moving forward in life with Ian. They could have so many things together and be happy and in love. What more did either of them need?

 

     Had they not been caught by Terry, would they have kept going or would have Ian gotten bored? Had Mickey not flown off the handles after getting caught, would Ian have run away with him if he asked? Had Mickey come to his senses and found him sooner, would Ian have taken him back? Maybe he’d have a better chance of Ian not breaking things off if Mickey hadn’t ghosted him the way he did, and apologized and fixed things.

 

     Mickey would never be able to make up for what he did or apologize enough to make a difference. He was really going to have to just sit and suffer for probably the rest of his life knowing not only did he ruin their relationship and his own life, my Ian’s too. Now that he’s seen what the man’s been doing, and heard from him, it made it so much more real. Mickey had drove Ian out to go find strangers to fuck for money and get hooked on drugs, and there was no way around it. He’d be lucky if they came out of this with Ian not hating him forever.

 

     "I'm sorry, Ian," Mickey whispered carefully to Ian, and ran his hand lightly over the copper hair. Mickey got off the bed and headed to the bathroom, and began getting dressed when he was done; he wasn’t really ready to deal with all this shit, but wanted to get it over with and make the break. He snuck out of the room quietly to let Ian sleep; he really needed it, especially since he still had to deal with his family and have his ‘talk’ with Mickey. Iggy and Mandy were on the couch drinking and smoking when Mickey came out of his room, and he prepared himself for what he knew was coming.

 

      "Fucking finally," Mandy said when she saw he brother enter the room and her and Iggy stood up from the couch and met him by the kitchen. "Ian's back? You got him back?" Mickey sighed and sat down at the table. "I snuck in to piss and saw him." Mickey nodded.

 

     "Yeah. He called me this morning. He wouldn't fuck some guy so the fuck beat the shit outta Ian and fuckin' robbed him." Iggy sat down across from Mickey, and Mandy in between them both at the head of the table.

 

     "So, you guys are dating again or what?" Iggy asked.

 

     "How many times I gotta tell you we never fucking dated?” he snapped. He scrunched his nose and added quieter, “he doesn't want to anyway." Mickey looked down at his hands but looked back at his brother when he heard the harsh tone of his voice.

 

     "What the fuck? He's gonna fucking leave for months, have you babysit him for fuckin’ weeks, and just fuck off?" Iggy looked dumbfounded at the whole situation.

 

     "I beat the shit outta him. And he doesn't even know why,” Mickey shrugged, “not like he don’t have good reasons for this shit.”

 

     " _Why'd_ you beat the shit outta him?" Mandy piped up curiously. Thank fuck Iggy hadn't filled her in on _everything_ , he didn’t think he could handle what his sister would’ve done to him if she knew. But, it was all going to come out anyway. Mickey sighed and looked at her with sad eyes.

 

     "Because I l-" he shut his mouth when he heard his door open behind him. Ian came into the room, dressed and awkward. He stood there for a minute, with his hands in front of him and his head down, before Mandy jumped out of her chair to hug Ian. She pulled back to punch him in the arm, but went back to hugging him. He didn’t even seem to mind the punch at all.

 

     "Hey, Mands. Missed ya," he said deeply.

 

     "You're a fucking asshole for leaving me here with these shitheads," she said into his chest. Ian looked over her head at Mickey, who was totally staring and had to turn back around in his chair to get his eyes off Ian. The longer they stayed the worse things would probably get; mostly for Mickey who’d probably try to hold Ian hostage in his room as to not ever lose him again, like he knew he was about to. Mandy sat back on the couch when they done with the hugging and quietly talking. Ian came to sit in her abandoned spot at the table and looked back and forth between the brothers.

 

     "Hey Iggy-"

 

     "I'll kill you myself if you fuck up again, you piece-"

 

     "Iggy!" Mickey yelled wide eyed. He looked at Ian who looked confused and kind of hurt.

 

     "What! He fucking-" Mickey smacked Iggy in the back of the head. Now they had to get out of here before Iggy decided he needed to beat Ian to a pulp to defend his brothers honor.

 

     "Come on, man, let's get you home," he sighed to Ian, stood up, and grabbed the keys from his pocket where he shoved them when he was getting dressed. "I'm taking the car, prick," he said to Iggy who just continued to glare at Ian. _Well_ , at least he knew his brother was in his corner. He walked Ian out to the car as fast he could and immediately felt the need to apologize. "Sorry of Igg. He just kinda..." he trailed off, not knowing what really to say. "You're just a touchy subject is all." Ian nodded, staring at him.

 

     "That mean he knows?" Mickey nodded back.

 

     "Gotta lotta shit to tell ya, fuckhead," he smiled sadly and started the car. They hadn't _really_ needed the car to go to Ian's, but after the 'break up' he'd want to get as far away from this neighborhood as fast as he could, so he'd need it. He knocked his nose with his knuckle and glanced at Ian, who was still staring. _Of course he was_. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

 

     "I missed you." Mickey shook his head.

 

     "Stop," he said firmly.

 

     "What?"

 

     "I still have a little bit of light left in me and I'm not fucking ready to let it go, so just, stop. We're getting you home, you're gonna talk to your family, and then you can end this, okay? Just, not yet. I'm not ready. No yet." Mickey's voice was just above a whisper and he felt his eyes brimming but he held in the tears. He wasn't ready. He probably never really would be, but he needed more time.

 

     "Mickey, I don't-" Mickey was shaking his head again.

 

     "Not yet, Ian." He sounded so fucking helpless and desperate and just down right pathetic. He knew the second they were alone after they got to the Gallagher house, he'd never get to see Ian again, least over all in the ways he wanted to. He knew it would be for the best, he _knew_ he had treated Ian badly, and he _knew_ he ended this it months ago and stick to it. Ian Gallagher was Mickey's biggest weakness and worst habit. But, Ian was the best memories, the most genuine smiles and feelings of happiness, and hope, too.

 

     Neither of the boys talked the rest of the short car ride. Mickey thinks Ian was probably moments from bursting because he wasn't good at not talking when things were weird. Mickey had things he wanted to say, too, but even when they did finally talk, he wouldn't be able to make his point. Ian was ending this, it was Ian's decision, Mickey didn't get a say. It was weird thinking about whatever they once had being ended now, because it felt like it's been over for a long time now. But, hearing Ian tell him he was an asshole and never wanted to see him again would still be hard.

 

     They finally pulled up in front of Gallagher's house, and Mickey thought he was going to snap. He had grown increasingly tense throughout the drive and now he was gripping the steering wheel so hard to steady his hands, that his tattooed knuckles were white. He turned the car off and waited for Ian to get out of the car so he could fucking breathe for a second, but he didn't. "Are you coming,” he asked when he opened his car door. Mickey looked at him for the first time since they got in the car, and felt everything in him shatter.

 

     "Your family doesn't fucking like me. Your brother almost broke my nose and they all blame me for you leaving, too,” Mickey shook his head and Ian's eyebrows knotted.

 

     "'Too?' Who else blames you?" Mickey rolled his eyes and groaned.

 

     "We’ll talk about it later. Just, come out here-"

 

     "No," Ian cut him off, "I want you to come in with me. I'm just gonna say hi to them, show 'em I'm still alive, and tell them I'll explain shit later. We can go up to my room and talk." Mickey bit his lip and thought about it. If he went into Ian's room he'd never leave. "I don’t wanna talk to them Mick, I wann talk to you. Plus, if they really fucking blame you, how good is it gonna feel to walk in there and tell them you found me and brought me back?" Mickey sighed and closed his eyes. Ian knew him too well.

 

     "Yeah, okay, but only see the look on your fucking brother's face when he realizes. You're sister, too. I fuckin' _told_ her," He added under his breath. Ian nodded and smiled so fucking brightly, Mickey thinks he blinded himself by looking right at it, and they got out of the car. When they entered the house, they were not immediately met with anyone, but when they stepped into the living room fully, they saw everyone at the kitchen table eating dinner. No one noticed anything at first, but the climbing anticipation was raising in him. They barely made it into the actual kitchen before Ian's youngest sister looked up and caught them.

 

     "Ian? Ian! You're back!" The second gingered Gallagher jumped up from the table to hug Ian, followed by his younger brother, his older brother, and his older sister carrying his youngest brother. Jesus there was a lot of 'em. Ian had definitely told him all of their names at one point or another, but there were _so_ many of them he forgot sometimes. And, it had been so long since he'd heard any stories about them. None of them were Ian, so, when he _did_ hear stories, he was always just listening to Ian's voice until he started talking about himself again.

 

     "You look like shit, what happened?" His younger brother asked. Ian just shook his head as Fiona rubbed his face.

 

     "Long story. I'm okay though." The siblings all stood around Ian, hugging him, kissing him, asking him questions. Mickey just stood back in the doorway uncomfortably, not wanting to get in the way of the reunion. He'd heard so many stories of Ian’s family not noticing Ian or caring what he did, hell, he was gone for months and they didn't do anything. Still, they had so much love for him. Even if they didn't show well or often, Mickey could see it right now. Fucked that it took him running away to get it, but still.

 

     "Okay, okay you guys. I've got shit I gotta do. I'll tell you everything later. But, I wanted you to know I'm still alive. And, uhm, you can thank Mickey. He, uh, he really helped me out." Everyone turned to look at the Milkovich, who they apparently hadn't noticed what was being talked about or stared at. The red headed girl (Debbie, he remembered, because she was the other ginger and he knew before ever seeing her that he'd like her) ran over to Mickey and hugged him quickly. Mickey just stood there.

 

     "Thank you for getting him back. I was so worried. I called hospitals everyday but there wasn't much else I could do," she smiled at him. _Oh yeah_ , he liked Debbie. The older two, Lip and Fiona, _the fuckers_ , just nodded at him.

 

     "You're the one he's fucking," the younger brother asked. Fiona leaned over to smack his head, and everyone else turned to stare at him, then slowly back at Mickey. Ian had told him about his younger brother a few times; told him he'd probably like him because they were one in the same with their shenanigans.

 

     Ian coughed and finally pulled away from his family. He clapped his hands and said again, "okay, well, uh, we're gonna go upstairs." He headed to the stairs but stopped to look at Mickey, nodding his head up at the stairs behind him when he noticed Mickey hadn’t followed him. _This was it_. He took a deep breath, nodded and gave a tight-lipped smile to the onlooking Gallagher’s, and followed Ian up the creaky steps. They stepped into Ian's room, and the second the door was closed Mickey turned to face Ian. He wasn't planning to talk but, he just had to.

 

     "I have some shit to say. And I wasn't _gonna_ say shit because I know this _your_ fucking decision and _I_ was the douche but I _have to_ say something. Because I _know_ I fucked up. I know. I hurt you and I shouldn't have. And I made you leave. Your sister was right, brother weas right, Mandy was right. I fucking ruined you and I'm fucking sorry okay?" Mickey took a deep breath and continued to look at Ian, who was just listening.

 

     "They told me you're different and filled with all this hate or some shit. That I was the reason you left. Said it was my fault and I never should've talked to you in the first place. I guess they were right. I never should've started with you. I told you that. I was so worried what would happen but I'm fucking selfish. I-I didn't want to let you go. Still don't. But I know you do and that's okay. I just-I wanted you to know I-I-" _Come on, Mickey, you can say it._ He took another deep breath. "Ian, I-I love you. I really fucking love you, okay? A-nd- and I don't know shit about love, but I know that it means sometimes I have to fucking suck it up for your sake. So, I will. I'll go and I'll stay away, okay? I won't bother you. I'm just sorry I ruined you." Mickey finally broke eye contact to look at the floor. _Fuck_. He should've just kept his damn mouth shut. He was so bad at getting his feelings and thoughts out but of _course_ he'd lose his filter the second everything seemed to be over.

 

     It was silent for a while, Mickey couldn't lift his head, he just waited for Ian to start laughing at him. Which he did, loudly. Mickey closed his eyes. It didn't seem as vicious as he was expecting, or at all really, but it still hurt. It didn't hurt as much as the punch to his shoulder that followed, though. "Ow! Fuck, Ian! You're starting this shit again?" Mickey snapped his head up and rubbed his arm.

 

     "We are _nowhere_ near even in the punching department, Mick. I think I have a permanent bruise on my bicep from your 'shut up' hits." Mickey dropped his eyes again. He never meant for those to seem hateful. "Why'd you have to say you love me after a speech about me not wanting to see you anymore?" Mickey looked up with his brows furrowed. Ian had stepped closer, close enough the he could almost feel his breath on his face.

 

     "Because it took me a long fucking time to admit it to myself and I needed you to know before it’s officially over,” he choked.

 

     "What's over? _Us_?" Mickey nodded. "Jesus Christ, Mick. You should've just let me start." He took a deep breath and Mickey just stared up at him. He had no clue what the fuck was going on. Ian just chuckled and moved his hands so they were cupping Mickey's face. "You didn't do _shit_ , Mick. I was mad at Terry and I never got over it. Sure, I wasn't _happy_ with you, but I got it. I just needed to get away from this shit. I was fucked up and I thought _I_ fucked up and I hated myself for this shit. You told me we couldn't happen, tried to keep me away. But I didn't listen."

 

     "Never fucking do," Mickey sniffed. Ian laughed lightly again. He was running his thumbs over Mickey's cheek bones, occasionally catching a tear that he would let slip. He's held everything in for so long he just couldn't anymore, he hated crying, and fuck if he hated crying in front of Ian.

 

     "Mickey, I don't want to stop seeing you. I want to _be_ with you, okay? And I'm not different. I ran from my problems, from you. I slept around and did drugs but I'm not _different_. I'm not going anywhere. If you don't want to or can't cause of your dad or whatever I-"

 

     "Terry's not coming back for a while," Mickey whispered. "I, uhm, I told him. I- I came out. Told him about us. He tried to beat the shit outta me, but I fuckin' fought back that time. Called the cops on him, he broke his parole so, they took him in." Mickey stared at Ian and Ian stared at Mickey.

 

     "You came out?" Mickey nodded.

 

     "Doesn't mean I'm wearing a fucking dress or anything," Mickey rolled his eyes. He would've normally pulled back and walked away from Ian by this point, feeling to open and vulnerable, but he'd never be able to do that again.

 

     "No one fuckin' asked you to," Ian inched ever closer and spoke quietly. "Though, you do have nice legs."

 

     "Fuck off, man."

 

     "Hey, I like your legs." Ian moved his hands down to Mickey's hips.

 

     "You like my everything."

 

     "I like you." Mickey's heart raced and he opened his mouth to say something fucking stupid like he liked Ian too, but the bedroom door opening stopped him. They pulled apart and Mickey went to sit on Ian's bed, still intent on staying with him, but annoyed with the interruption. Lip, Debbie, and Carl, the other brother, came into the room throwing questions out like mad.

 

     "Where'd you go? Why'd you leave?" Debbie finally pushed in.

 

     "Uh, relationship stuff?" Mickey's ears burned and he caught Lip looking past his brother to glare at Mickey. "I didn't go anywhere fun. Just got a job, stayed with some friends." Mickey snorted and everyone in the room turned to look at him. He coughed and looked up at the ceiling. "Hey, I'm really tired you guys. I'm gonna hang out up here for a while. We can catch up tomorrow?" They all agreed and went about hugging their found brother again before finally leaving, hopefully for good this time. Ian came to sit next to Mickey in the bed.

 

     "I like you, too," Mickey blurted out. And immediately regretted it. How fucking _dumb_ that sounded. Ian rested his head on Mickey's shoulder, though, pulling his hand into his lap and traced the tattoos.

 

     "I love you too, Mick," he whispered. Mickey let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He never thought he'd ever tell someone he loved them. But, he _never_ thought, in a million years anyone would ever say they loved him. Least of all Ian Gallagher. The sat in a comfortable silence for a while, just listening to each other’s breathing and enjoying their company. It was so fucking good to have Ian back and being with him. He doesn’t how long they’ve sat like, this, holding each other in a way, but he wanted to hear more of Ian’s voice.

 

     “You, uh, you still red and shit?” Ian laughed lightly, shaking Mickey’s shoulder.

 

     “Like my hair?” Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

     “No, man. Fuckin’ red boy, you know what I’m talkin’ about,” he huffed. Ian sat up off Mickey, with his classic shit-eating grin.

 

     “You pretend you don’t know the term, shithead, you know it’s rose-colored.”

 

     “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You still got? The glasses and shit?” Ian furrowed his brows and nodded.

 

     “I guess so, why?” Mickey shrugged and scratched his nose. He really didn’t want know if he really did fuck up Ian, but he looked where they were. He expected to have Ian drop him when they walked into his room, and he’d never get to see Ian again. Bur, now, it was like nothing had even happened between their first kiss and right now. Ian was so easy to forgive and forget, and maybe that could get him in trouble sometimes, but Mickey was grateful for it, because now he could actually be with Ian.

 

     “I just don’t want to ruin shit, ya know?” Ian shook his head and tugged on Mickey’s hand to get him to look at him.

 

     “You didn’t, Mick, okay? I’m fine. I was just tryna make through until maybe you changed your mind or some shit. You know me, holdin’ out hope and shit. I don’t know. It wasn’t the best plan or whatever, but I’m still me, okay?” Ian lifted his free hand to rest on Mickey’s cheek, who just stared back into green eyes. Mickey slowly nodded and turned his head to kiss Ian’s palm softly. Ian smiled softly back at him and dropped his hand to play with mickey’s fingers with both hands. Mickey looked down to stare at their hands and tangled fingers. This is all he ever wanted. He’d never this go, never let Ian go.

 

     "Don't leave again, okay?" Mickey’s voice was so weak.

 

     "I'm not goin' anywhere. You're gonna be stuck with me for a long time,” Ian whispered with a devilish smile, tugging Mickey’s hand again and laying back onto the bed, bringing Mickey with him.

 

     "Oh, great," Mickey snorted sarcastically, twisting his body to hover over Ian’s body. _Great_.


	20. Chapter 20

**_ Chapter Twenty _ **

 

 

 

 

     "You know we missed my birthday." It wasn't a question.

 

     "And whose fucking fault is that?" They were sitting on the Milkovich couch, eating pizza and drinking beer; the usual. Ian had practically moved in after he came back last month. He told his family what happened and that he didn't want to be at their house anymore; partially because he was tired of how he felt there and partially because he just wanted to be with Mickey. And Mickey did not mind. Now, they didn’t go a day without seeing each other; things were back to how they used to be but even better now.

 

     "I thought we decided to _both_ take the blame and forget it?" Ian spoke with a mouthful of pizza.

 

     "Yeah, well," Mickey yawned and leaned forward to place his empty beer bottle on the table, and falling back into the couch when he was done. "Figure out what you wanna do for work yet?" Ian shook his head and swallowed his pizza. He hadn’t wanted to go back to the Kash and Grab, and neither did Mickey. And, there was no way he was going back to the club or anything. So, he was left in a sort of rut, where he didn’t know where he was going or what he wanted, but, he always told Mickey that _he_ was what he wanted, and that was enough for now.

 

     "Don't try to distract me from birthday talk. But," he dragged and slid over so he was practically in Mickey's lap. He wasted no time in his attempts for birthday information, and started sucking on Mickey’s neck. "Look on the bright side-" he blew against the warm, wet skin.

 

     "Mmm I love when you talk dirty to me," Mickey hummed.

 

     "-you've got more me time until I do." Mickey laughed.

 

     "Yeah, _that's_ what I fucking need, more you time." Maybe he didn't _need_ it, but he'd definitely take it. He was still getting used to having Ian around again, let alone this often, but he didn’t mind. This is what he spent so long wishing for, and it was so nice to finally have it and live it. He’d never get sick of Ian. Ian moved his hand down to palm Mickey through his jeans, clearly wanting to waste no time. Mickey did everything he could to suppress the moan building in his throat. No way he was going to give in so easily; he knew Ian would make it more fun for him if he held out a little longer and acted like he didn’t notice. But, he _always_ noticed. "Stop using sex to find out about your birthday,” he breathed thickly.

 

     "That mean we're gonna do something? It's a little late for my birthday. I bet it's not for my birthday." Ian tilted his head and licked his bottom lip when he pulled back from Mickey a bit. He was so damn good at seduction, Mickey’d probably let slip all of the government’s secrets right then if he could. Then again, he was weak.

 

     "What the fuck would it be for?" His voice slipped to an ever so slightly higher pitch as Ian moved his hands to slowly undo Mickey jeans.

 

     "Our anniversary." Mickey just laughs.

 

     "Fuck off, Ian. A month? You really think I want-"

 

     "No, not since we've actually been _dating_ but since last year," Ian explained as he sat up to look at Mickey again, but with a more knowing look this time. _Damnit_. Mickey had planned a surprise for Ian that on the surface was supposed to make up for his birthday. But, in his head, he really was celebrating a year with this fuck. He couldn’t help it. He was honest to god proud of how far they’ve come, together and induvial, and he just wanted to do something special for his guy. But fuck if Ian could know that.

 

     "Stop saying gay shit," he huffed simply, trying to move the conversation along. Ian came back down onto his neck with a hard suck and a gentle bite.

 

     "How 'bout I do some gay shit instead?" Ian slid his hand into Mickey's jeans and groped him, causing Mickey to close his eyes and roll his head back. He was so close to just giving in- but, Ian really just couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. "What are we gonna do? How long will you have me? Is it just gonna be sex or-"

 

     "Will you blow me already so you can shut the fuck up? You need to do somethin’ else with your mouth," Mickey groaned. Ian pulled off his neck again and started kissing him instead. Miceky couldn’t help the sigh of relief he pushed into Ian’s mouth, along with his tongue. It didn’t matter how many times they kissed; he’d never get used to it. I was something otherworldly to kiss Ian Gallagher. His taste mixing with his smell. The way he felt, the way his hands moved. It was like he had all this power, and he knew it, and he just couldn’t do any wrong with it, so he didn’t have to be careful. Ian knew what he wanted, always had, so Mickey knew, now, that he wanted him, and that simple fact was enough for him to relinquish all of his own power and give it up to Ian; who always took it and treated it well. Mickey misused power, Ian never would.

 

     Ian had pulled Mickey's dick out of his pants and immediately began stroking him while Mickey moaned into his mouth, the sound lost in the back of Ian’s throat. Mickey thinks that he’s moaned and screamed so many times down Ian’s mouth like this, not being able to help it, that the inside of the man’s throat had to be covered with his words. ‘More’ and ‘don’t stop’ and ‘I love you’ and so many more, etched into flesh like a mixed-up journal.

 

     In the month Ian had been back, it hardly felt like he was gone at all. They just went back to their old routines, but now, they were really together, and Mickey loved that. He didn’t have to stress out or get himself worked about and insecure about if Ian really wanted him or if this was still just sex, or if he was seeing other people still. He got to be with Ian as wholeheartedly as he could and wanted to, and he was so lucky for that. It was nice having him back and nothing being too different; just better. Just as Ian was pulling back and moving to get on his knees in front of the couch, Mandy came barreling in through the front door. "Oh god. How many times- stop fucking on the damn couch!"

 

     "Jesus Christ, Mandy!" Mickey yelled and tucked himself back into his jeans. Ian sat himself back on the couch like nothing happened but Mickey stood up. He wasn’t too keen on hanging out with his sister when he knew Ian had other plans in mind. He scrunched his nose and walked around the couch, keeping his eyes on Ian was he backed away.

 

     "I just wanted to hang out with my friend I shouldn't have to see that shit," she yelled back when he finally made to his room and closed the door. He knew Ian would come in eventually, just as eager to continue you as he was, so he just sat on his bed and waited. He had sat in his room for twenty minutes though; it was like Ian had totally forgotten about him. Mickey was just left thinking about how annoying this shit was getting. Both of Ian and Mickey's houses had too many people coming in and out at all hours; so, they still rarely got their privacy. His mind drifted back to thoughts of having their own place. It would make things so much easier, and it would just be them. They wouldn’t have to hide or be quiet or _wait_. They could just _be_. Together. He was so caught up in his thought he lost his filter when Ian finally did come in.

 

     "We need to get our own damn place. I'm sick of that shit," he blurted when Ian closed and locked the door. He hadn't necessarily wanted to say that, but it was too late now. _Damn Gallagher_.

 

     "Our own place, huh?" Ian tilted his head and went to stand in front of Mickey where he sat on the bed still. Mickey immediately grabbed that backs of his knees and pulled him until he hit the bed, spreading his own legs to make room. He couldn’t help touching Ian, and never wanted to stop "Gonna buy me a house, Mick?" Mickey snorted. He was actually really nervous about this topic and rubbed his hands on the backs of Ian's thighs to keep them busy. _Sure_ , he wanted to live with Ian, they already were, really. But, would getting their own place _now_ be too much too soon? It didn't feel like it for Mickey; he's known where he stood and what he wanted when it came to Ian for a long time. But, no way Ian thought this would be good or healthy. Technically, they had only been together a month, Ian had his impulses, but was he _that_ bad?

 

     "Yeah right, rent you a fucking apartment, more like." Ian lolled his head back and forth in contemplation, eyes toward the ceiling, like this was a serious offer. _Was it?_

 

     "Pet friendly?"

 

     "Why are you asking stupid fucking questions? Yes pet friendly, you know I'm gettin' me a dog."

 

     "Okay," Ian said softly and looked back down to Mickey, who couldn’t help but gulp. Ian’s smile was slowly growing and Mickey's eye brows furrowed. What was actually happening right now?

 

     "Okay what,” he asked, confused.

 

     "Okay. Rent me an apartment. Get you a dog." Ian was straight beaming now, and for a moment, Mickey was so caught up in the smile and the fucking _twinkle_ in his eyes, that he didn’t register anything else around him. _That_ was _Mickey’s_ smile. The one he’d spend the rest of his life chasing, even if it killed him; and with Ian, it could. When he came back to his senses, Mickey couldn't help his own smile or his leaping heart. _Really_?

 

     "Yeah? Wanna get a shitty, Southside apartment with me, huh?" Ian nodded. "Okay. You get a job, I'll get an apartment. We'll get a dog when we're settled in." Maybe they didn't have to do this stuff right away, maybe they could wait a while so it seemed less rushed, but the idea of a life with Ian was all he needed. Ian threw his head back and faked a moan.

 

     "Oh, Mick, keep talking domestic to me, it turns me on." He climbed onto Mickey's lap as he was laying down on the bed, grinding down ever so slightly. Ian went back to work on his neck, adding to the plethora of marks and bruises that were already taking up residence on the milk skin.

 

     "We'll sign leases, get bank accounts-" he gasped when Ian bit down hard on his neck, "fuck, I gotta stop or I'm gonna get hard thinking about taxes or some shit."

 

     "Why don't I just fuck you then?" Mickey nodded and hummed, now realizing just how bad he wanted this right now. Ian, however, seemed to have other plans, and got off Mickey and the bed.

 

     "Where the fuck are you going, Gallagher? We're doin' somethin' here!" Mickey bolted up to glare at Ian who just laughed and went to his closet.

 

     "We never got to play with your toys," he said as he started digging around. Mickey almost started to panic.

 

     "How the fuck do you know where they are?"

 

     "I snoop," he said and tried stretching further into the closet.

 

     "W-why don't I just get it?" He got off the bed but Ian stopped him with a harsh gaze.

 

     "Get naked and stay on the bed." He turned back to the closet and Mickey did as he was told, not skipping a beat.

 

     "Just-just get the balls, okay? Don't fuck with anything else in there." Ian had made fun of him for the beads, he didn't want to hear any other comments he'd make on the rest of his stuff. He emerged out of the closet with the whole damn box. Of _fucking_ course. "Ian-"

 

     "Shut up and let me look." Ian opened the old, oversized shoe box and his eyes widened. It was like a damn cardboard sex shop. The black balls were on top but there was so much more. There were handcuffs, silk scarves, sticks of wax; the works. There were even two dildos and a couple things that looked like they vibrated. It wasn't crazy stuff, but Mickey was still shy about it; almost more so because it was Ian. He was never really scared of Ian, except on the few occasions he’d seen him mad, but, one thing that always scared him with Ian was when he opened up like this and gave himself to the man even more. Mickey’s knows Ian wouldn’t purposefully hurt him, but what if he made fun of him more or he just thought he was freak?

 

     "Some stuff, like the cuffs, I got 'em after we started fucking around. Thought I'd get to use some of it with you," Mickey explained quietly. He doesn’t know why, but he thinks talking it through will help. Ian nodded.

 

     "Anything in particular you want to use right now?" Mickey was caught off guard for a second. Ian didn’t really seem to care, and was actually willing to do whatever Mickey wanted. _God_. He shook his head and tried to calm himself.

 

     "Nah, the beads are fine. I want my hands free." He'd spent so long without Ian, he still wasn't ready to not touch and hold him as much as possible. "But, uhm, whenever we do, we should do the wax first. It's really fucking good." Ian looked up from the box to Mickey and smiled with a short nod.

 

     "Whatever you want, Mick," he whispered. He leaned forward and kissed Mickey softly for a moment. Mickey let himself get completely lost in the kiss, his lips moving with Ian’s, until he felt himself almost dizzy, and not because of lack of oxygen. "Get on your knees," Ian huffed onto Mickey's lips breathlessly. Mickey couldn't find his words anymore so he just nodded and moved away from Ian. He laid his forehead on his pillows and propped his knees on the bed so his ass was in the air. He heard and felt Ian moving behind him and figured he was getting undressed and looking for condoms and lube.

 

     He finally felt Ian settle behind him and felt his hands all over his body, melting under the warm, caring touch. He was rubbing his thighs, kissing his back, squeezing his ass. Mickey couldn’t focus on where exactly Ian was, but just felt totally enveloped in him. He heard the lube cap click and it squirt out and his heart leapt with anticipation and nerves. Things hadn’t gone so well the last time they tried this shit and it was breaking him out. Mickey knew Terry wasn’t going to bust through the door, and even if he did, he knew he could take him this time. Still, he couldn’t help it when he slowly sat up and looked around the room. “Mick? You okay?” Ian called from behind him, but it sounded distant.

 

     Mickey didn’t make any move to turn around and face Ian, too busy staring into a corner of his room. Ian’s face slowly slipped into his view, and he realized Ian was closer to him now, with each of his hands on one of his shoulders, and looking at him with so much worry. It made Mickey sick but he didn’t know why. Mickey knew he needed to explain, or at least try, but he just couldn’t get the words out. Thank god for Ian, though, because he always just _knew_. “Mickey, it’s okay. It’s just me. No one’s here. No one’s gonna get us, okay?" Mickey blinked a few times until his eyes and mind could focus back on Ian.

 

     It was so much that he was panicking or anything, he was just out of it for a minute. He needed to remind himself that it _was_ okay and nothing would happen. Mickey took a deep breath and nodded. “Wanna stop? We can watch a movie or-“ Ian tried, but Mickey cut him off with a laugh and a shake of his head.

 

     “Nah, man, it’s cool. I just- I need a second. _Fuck_ ,” he breathed. Ian nodded and lowered his head to rest his forehead on Mickey’s right shoulder, kissing it lightly on the way down. The two sat together for a moment in silence. Mickey tried focusing on Ian’s breathing and the feel of his hands on his skin, where they slid down to lay on his thighs. He closed his eyes when Ian started talking, trying to focus more on his voice than the words.

 

     “You still get the dreams?” Mickey huffed a dry laugh but nodded. Even after Ian came back and things got better, Mickey still found himself waking up in a cold sweat from images of Terry beating Ian and him to death. Sometimes Ian would wake up, too, and try to calm him down and get him back to sleep. It was nice and always helped, but Mickey was embarrassed by how worked a simple dream could make him, so he usually ran off to the bathroom to calm himself before Ian had to wake up and see him. Ian sighed next to him and squeezed one of his legs lightly.

 

     “I ever tell ya ‘bout my nightmares,” he asked gently against Mickey’s skin, who just shook his head lightly. “Well, I’ve always had these nightmares, since I was real little, ya know? There were a couple of ‘em, but they always came back. Sometimes it was Monica and Frank leaving me somewhere, sometimes it was them getting fuckin’ hit by a care or something. Sometimes they turned into monsters and shit. And those always scared me the most ‘cause I think even when I was kid I knew that they were monsters in real life, and so it always thought it wasn’t a dream but just them finally takin’ the masks on or some shit. Who knows.” Mickey felt his body lean even heavier against Ian.

 

     He hated the thought of Ian struggling with that shit, and wished he could help. He knew better than anyone what it was like to have a shitty life and family, and so far, the only cure he found was Ian. All he could hope for was that he was Ian’s Ian, and could help him the way he helped Mickey. “Anyway, I thought they’d go away when I got older, or I’d at least stop being so scared. I still get them, though. And for a long time, they still scared me. But, I use them to remind me I’m better than my parents and I’m not some scary monster like them, ya know?” Mickey opened his eyes and furrowed his brows, but still nodded.

 

     _He_ wasn’t Terry. He didn’t need to be afraid of Terry because he was better than him and always would be. A dream is just a dream, and nothing from his subconscious was going to come out of his ear one day and haunt him in the real world. “It’s all fake,” he whispered, mostly to himself. Ian nodded anyway.

 

     “Exactly, it’s not real. But this,” he shifted further on the bed so he was almost fully in front of Mickey and grabbed his face to look him in the eye, “ _this_ is real. Okay? You and me. As real as it gets, right?” Mickey rolled his eyes and laughed.

 

     “Yeah, yeah. Such a fuckin’ sap.” Ian simply smiled and leaned in to peck Mickey’s lips, hovering over his face for a second.

 

     “Did you wanna stop, or-“ Mickey shook his head again, still in Ian’s large hands.

 

     “No, I wanna do it. Can’t move on if I don’t’, right?” Ian smiled widely and genuinely and nodded. Mickey took a deep breath and reluctantly pulled himself from Ian to resume his downward position, waiting for Ian to do something and ease the heavy tension the floated though the room now. Ian moved back and sat behind Mickey again, squirting more lube out and placing a hand on his hip affectionately. Clearly, he was ready to jump into it already.

 

“Okay, so just one, right? Until you're ready for more,” he asked quietly, blowing warm air over Mickey’s backside.

 

     "Yeah, but, I mean, finger me a bit first, Jesus."

 

     "Oh, yeah..." Mickey laughed at Ian’s eagerness, but it was caught off when Ian slid a finger in him. He seemed like he really wanted to get going and wasn't taking his time because he was already adding his middle finger. He was moving his fingers faster now, and spreading them apart a bit. Maybe Ian was just was excited for this as Mickey was. He kept kissing and biting Mickey's ass, until he finally pulled his fingers out. Through the whole prepping process, Mickey didn't have any time to react to anything, he was just breathing heavily into his pillow and arm, letting out hard gasps and moans as the pace quickened, until he was empty again.

 

     "Wanna go faster next time? Jesus Christ," Mickey huffed into his arm and he started adjusting himself. He felt like he was barely ready for things to start being shoved up his ass. This was going be excruciating. 

 

     "Okay," Ian said, still intent on getting to the toy, and squirted out more lube for the balls, "I'm gonna do the first one now." Mickey opened his mouth to ask if he could slow the fuck down for a second, but his words got lost in a whine, an honest to God fucking _whine_. He took a deep breath and released a deep and ragged moan as Ian pushed in the first ball. When it was fully in, they both stayed still and quiet, save for Mickey's breathy sounds. _Okay_ , maybe they didn't have to take their time today.

 

     "O-okay, I'm ready," he finally choked out. He wasn’t sure that was true, but he wanted to find out. Mickey buried his face into the pillow to muffle himself as the second ball slowly pushed in. It was more of a stretch than usual since Ian rushed through the prep, but it still felt amazing, albeit a little much and a bit tiring already. He didn’t know how far he’d be able to go right now.

 

     "Feels okay?" Ian asked when Mickey hadn't made any movements. Mickey mumbled into the pillow that, ‘fuck yes, don't stop, more please’, but figured Ian didn't quite catch that. So, he wiggled his hips a bit and pushed them back, pathetically letting his body ask for more. Ian laughed above him. The third ball came but was not even half way in when it got pulled back out, then pushed in, and, yet again, pulled out. Oh, _now_ he wanted to have his fun. Mickey raised himself on his elbows and all but screamed. _Fuckin’ Gallagher._

 

     "F-fuck, Ian," he gasped. When he was talking, Ian took it upon himself to fully slide the third ball in, and Mickey arched his back. He couldn't focus on anything, barely even on what was going on. He just felt everything so much. He knew he wouldn't last much longer and wanted to have enough time with _Ian_. He reached his hand back to grip Ian's arm blindly. "S-stop. Stop. I wa-want you now," he panted. Ian kissed Mickey's hand before it was pulled back to its owner.

 

     "Slowly, right?" Ian clarified. Mickey nodded into the pillow. He heard Ian reassure himself with a quiet 'okay' before he tugged on the first bead. Mickey let out all the air he was holding in his lungs and clenched the pillow tightly. Then the second one was leaving him, and he was biting his arm. The third came out and he just let the moans escape him; not caring anymore and having no control, anyway. When he was free of any beads, he let his body collapse onto his bed and he tried to catch his breath. Everything was _so_ much. Ian was moving again, laying down on his left, on Mickey's side of the bed. "You okay?" It took him a minute but he got his bearings.

 

     "Yeah, just, hold on." He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. He usually wasn't knocked out so easily but he just couldn't move right now. He was just a heap of unpassable, over sensitivity. He took a couple more breaths and slowly opened his eyes. Ian was still laying down next to him and he smiled sheepishly at the ginger. "Hi," he said, lamely.

 

     "Hi," Ian smiled back, "how ya feelin'?"

 

     "Good. Fine. Just a lot, I don't know. I'll be ready in a minute." Ian nodded and sat up.

 

     "So, I know you were probably joking about moving in but-"

 

     "No, I wasn't," he said, maybe a bit too fast, "I mean, no, I do want to, but that's not something we have to fuckin' do now, ya know? We can wait. We've got time." Ian smiled and nodded.

 

     "Good, okay, well on the topic of things we wanna do and have time for; I wanna marry you." Everything in Mickey ran ice cold on impact. _What the fuck was happening_? They've only been a couple for a damn month and Ian wanted to fucking _marry_ him? He sat up slowly. No _way_ could he do that, not _now_ , not _ever_.

 

     "Ian-"

 

     "No, no, hear me out," he rushed, "we move in, we get married. It wouldn't be any different than now, just rings and government benefits." Mickey's brow creased. Was this about love or not? It shouldn't matter to him but the thought of Ian only wanting to marry him for shit from the government kind of hurt.

 

     "You wanna marry me for the _government benefits_?"

 

    "No, no, I want to marry you because I love you. I'm just trying to sell you on this." Mickey creased his brows even more.

 

     "You think you have to fucking sell me? You think I'm not capable of marrying you _?" It doesn't matter, Mickey, were not marrying this fucker_. Ian closed his eyes and sighed.

 

     "I know you don't like the idea of marriage. I figured shit like insurance would convince-"

 

     "I don't fucking need convincing, Ian. Not to marry you. I-okay. Well fuckin' get married, okay?" He sighed and laid back down. _God fucking damnit_. He really just agreed to marrying Ian just to prove a point? Was this who Mickey was? Of course it was. He rolled his eyes to himself. He'd have to find a way out of this shit before it was too late.

 

     "Really?"

 

     "Yes fucking really, now would you just-"

 

     "Mick? Mickey!" Mickey furrowed his brows again and jumped, looking up. Ian was just yelling at him. "Mickey!" Ian started shaking him. _What the fuck was he doing?_

 

     "What! What? Hi, I'm here," he snapped his head up and popped his eyes open. He looked around the room, still on his stomach, and met back with Ian’s eyes. Did he pass out? Was that a dream? _Please_ let it have been a dream. "What happened?" Ian pulled the pillow he was laying on out from under himself and began hitting Mickey with it.

 

     "You totally fucking fell asleep and you didn't even cum! You hear that Sylvia?" Ian called loudly, "daddy forgot all about you!" Mickey sighed in relief. _Thank fucking God_. His heart was still pounding at the thought of Ian asking him to get married. What if he _did_ ask him one day? Mickey couldn't get fucking married. He'd have to tell him no and that would be it. Forever is a long fucking time; no way in hell could he do that.

 

     "Fell asleep? No way! Okay maybe, but- damnit Ian! Stop hitting me!" He yanked the pillow back and threw it off the bed behind Ian. He turned over so he was on his back and Ian sat on his stomach. He started tickling and wrestling with Mickey, who was grateful for the distraction of marriage and played along. They only rolled around for a minute, though, before something caught Ian's attention.

 

     "What's this?" Mickey followed his line of sight to where his pillow had just been. His eyes widen and he went to grab the photo before Ian could, but the fuck was faster. "This is me? This is _mine_. Wait, where did you get this?" He didn't seem mad, just confused. Mickey, on the other hand, was freaking out. This was probably very creepy and unsettling.

 

     "Yeah, I, uh, I stole it. From your room." Mickey was trying to avoid eye contact. So, he stared at a cluster of freckles on Ian's right shoulder instead. Ian held the over-creased picture in both hands but was staring at Mickey.

 

     "When?"

 

     "Uh, well, that time I came to your house. The-the first time we..." Mickey trailed off and lifted his eyes up to Ian.

 

     "You stole a picture of me after we had sex for the first time and now you keep it under your pillow?"

 

     "Most of the time," he admitted.

 

     "Most of the time?" Ian tilted his head.

 

     "Yeah, when you were fucking gone I- well I'd put it on your pillow." He looked back at the cluster.

 

     "Wow, Mick." Mickey's stomach dropped and he felt the heat raise in his face. He hated this. He was so fucking embarrassed and Ian probably thought it was too disturbing. "You've really been in love with me for a long time, huh?" Ian smiled down at Mickey. He closed his eyes and rolled Ian off of him so they were laying next to each other. If this fucker was about to propose to him or something in real life now, this would be the end of their relationship.

 

     "Fuck off, man," he huffed.

 

     "Oh, stop, grumbles." Ian rolled onto his side and started placing slow, open mouthed kisses all over Mickey’s face, neck, and chest. They were silent for a moment; Ian just kissing, Mickey playing with Ian's hair and scratching his head lightly.

 

     "I have, though. I think I was before I knew. Fuck, I think I was when I first fucking met you. Hard not to with that dumb hair and goofy smile,” Mickey blurted. Ian looked up from Mickey's chest to beam at him. "I know it wasn't like that for you. I just think it was for me."

 

     "Remember last year when I stopped coming over to hang out with Mandy? Before you came over the first time to look for Frank?" Mickey nodded, and Ian rested his chin on his hands where they were on Mickey's chest. "And I said it some shit about personal stuff?"

 

     "Yeah. What was it?"

 

     "It's dumb. Like, really fucking stupid. But it was ‘cause I was scared of you." Mickey's sat up a little, causing Ian to have to as well. He really was scared of Mickey? _Fuck_. That’s never what he wanted. But it seemed like that's all he'd ever done. Scare Ian and hurt him. "No, no," Ian said and pushed Mickey back in the pillows and rested on him again. He slid one of his hands on his thigh to try to calm him, which definitely worked. "I was just scared because, fuck, I liked you and I didn't want you to find out or anything because, well, you know..." Ian trailed off and Mickey nodded. He did know. If he was in Ian's position, he probably would've been so scared that Mickey would kill him if he found out, that he would've stopped coming over, too. "Didn't really work though," he laughed lightly.

 

     "I'm glad it didn't. I fuckin' wish you weren't ever scared of me though. But I guess I've given you plenty of reason to be. I wish I could take it back." He moved his hand from Ian's hair to his face and rubbed his thumb over his cheek bone. "I'm sorry, Ian."

 

     "I know," he nodded "things were fucked, Mick, I know that. It's okay. We're okay." He smiled and leaned up to kiss Mickey deeply. Eventually Ian rolled off Mickey, after pecking him on the lips again, and slipped his left foot under Mickey's right ankle. "Your side of the bed is weird."

 

     "Fuck you, your side’s weird."

 

     "Let's not switch sides after this."

 

     "Agreed." They stared at the ceiling for a while in a comfortable silence, before Mickey had to break it. "Can I have my picture back?" Ian scoffed and looked at him.

 

     "The picture you stole?"

 

     "Finders fucking keepers," he nodded. Ian moved his hand around the bed until he found where the picture had slipped out of his hands and gave it to Mickey. While he reached over the edge of the bed to grab the pillow Mickey threw, Mickey hid the picture under Ian's pillow, and made a mental note to move it to his side later. Ian pulled the blanket up on them.

 

     "Sylvia down for the count?" Mickey lifted the blanket and looked down at his own crotch.

 

     "I think she could be encouraged and convinced," Mickey said lowly. Ian smiled and rolled back on top of Mickey under the covers.

 

     "Good thing I can be _very_ persuasive," Ian whispered into Mickey's ear. Was this all it really was? Marriage? Just being with the person you love all the time and just loving each other? Maybe he could get used to the idea of that, if _this_ is what is was like. _One day_.

 

     God help Mickey Milkovich with his _boyfriend_.


	21. Chapter 21

**_ Chapter Twenty-One _ **

 

 

 

 

     "So, like, cute dumb, or dumb dumb?"

 

     "Like fucking _dumb_ , Ian, Jesus," Mickey rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I told you 'it's fucking dumb' so why do you have to ask what kind of dumb? Dumb as shit, that's what it's dumb like."

 

     "Man, I missed your ranting while I was gone." Ian leaned back into the passenger seat of the Milkovich car and looked at Mickey's profile. Mickey glanced over and noticed.

 

     "What the fuck are you lookin' at?"

 

     "My boyfriend who did something dumb for our anniversary. You gonna finally take me to Mexico? I keep hearing promises of beautiful Mexican beaches."

 

     "Fuck you, that being the dumb thing. You're gonna eat your fuckin' heart out the day I take you across that damn boarder, Gallagher. And stop saying this is for an anniversary, it's fucking not. I just thought what I could do for a late birthday with fuck all money or experience with this shit and I-well I just thought about us, ya know?" Ian nodded. "Okay, so when we get there, you gotta stay in the car. I couldn't leave this shit out all day until we showed up so I gotta set everything up and then I'll come back and get you."

 

     "Did you get me a present?" Mickey looked at him with raised eyebrows.

 

     "Is this not a present?"

 

     "I mean I could be, if you didn't get me anything."

 

     "Okay, fuckhead, what did we do for my birthday? You came over after work for a couple hours for three days, fucked me, and left. What'd you get me? Nothing-"

 

     "I bought you cake and drugs was that not enough? And I did more than fuck you and leave. We hung out. And that was the weekend I knew I loved you. So, not that we're even but-"

 

     "Wait I've been in love with you since fuckin’ little league but it took you until almost a year ago?" Mickey’s eyebrows somehow shot further up into his hairline, but he kept his eyes on the dark road ahead.

 

     "No. I mean, I kinda knew for a while, I just didn't know if it was love or just intense like or what. But that weekend was good for us, that's when we became more than sex I think." Mickey pursed his lips and nodded.

 

     "It was never just sex. Not for me." Ian reached over and rubbed his thigh (which he did not move from that spot the rest of the drive).

 

     "I know, Mick. I don't think it was for me either. I had liked you before, for a while. I used to ask Mandy what to do when you like a guy and shit," he laughed. "I think I thought if we did it once it'd be out of my system but every time we ever did something I just wanted more. That first time, when I showered after, I fuckin' waited to hear you leave and jacked off thinking about you."

 

     "No shit?"

 

     "No shit."

 

     "I went home and jacked off to the picture I stole." Both boys laughed for a minute.

 

     "Look at us, a couple o' fuckin' romantics!" He squeezed Mickey's thigh. Mickey turned and smiled at Ian for a moment, then turned back to driving. He loved this. Things were so good, Mickey could hardly believe it. Never in all his life did he ever think he’d so much as have real, non-sexual feelings for someone, and yet, here he was, driving his actual boyfriend to a surprise he had set up. It was crazy for him to think about where he once was and where he is now. He’s so fucking glad that he’s not the sad, pathetic, repressed little boy he once was, and now could just kiss his boyfriend whenever they wanted or take him out somewhere. He wasn't scared anymore.

 

     Because, the thing was, while the possibility of Terry or someone else finding out about them had always loomed over his head and shadowed his happiness, the idea of Ian choosing to leave always scared him more. Mickey could take the beatings, he always had, and he knew how to fight back of he needed to. But, he would never be strong enough to deal with Ian deciding Mickey wasn't enough anymore, and walking away. He'd be left in a broken heap on the ground, that was so unfix-able, no one would even bother. It had always been his biggest fear, even if he tried not to voice it to himself, but that didn't matter anymore, He knew Ian was just as invested in their relationship now as he was. He knew Ian wouldn't just wake up one day and leave. What he didn't know is what that meant for their future; but he didn't care. They were happy right now, and together, with plans of moving forward. They were in love; nothing else mattered.

 

     Mickey pulled off the street they had been driving on and headed down a somehow even darker dirt road. Ian was looking out his window to try to see where they were, but it was practically pitch black out there. They stayed quiet for the rest of the ride, which wasn't too long, leaving Mickey with his own thoughts and worries. He’s never done anything like this before; his birthday last year with Ian was the closest he’d ever been to planning something special, and that was nothing. What if he didn’t do something right and fucked it up? What if Ian actually wasn’t into this shit and didn't like it? What if he just made a complete fool of himself and would never be able to look Ian in the eye again, too afraid of seeing his own embarrassment mirrored in green eyes.

 

     He couldn’t worry about that. He had to just calm himself down and roll with. He needed to remember that this was _Ian_. _Ian_ , who probably didn’t give a shit as long as they were together. And, even if he didn’t like something, he’d still put on a show for Mickey to make him feel better because that’s just who he was. Mickey took a deep breath and finally parked, turning off the car on the edge of what looked like a forest, but was hard to tell at this time of night. "Stay here," Mickey smiled. He lifted Ian's hand from his leg and kissed it. Ian nodded and as he got out of the car, Mickey could see Ian following him with his eyes, and even turning around in his seat when he reached the trunk. Mickey pulled out the three big tote bags he had loaded into the car before loading Ian himself in, and slammed the trunk shut. He walked around the car, up to Ian's window and tapped it with his elbow so he'd roll it down. "I'll be back in like ten minutes. I left they key on the seat if you wanna listen to music or shit." Ian nodded again.

 

     “Gee, thanks, dad,” Ian teased. Mickey rolled his eyes but still smiled and slowly leaned his head into the window. Ian met him half way and they kissed softly; their lips slotted together like they were sculpted and made to do this with each other, and Mickey thought they might've been. He can feel Ian's excitement on his lips and the tip of his tongue where it's sliding over his own. He can taste the love on his chapped lips, and hopes he's conveying it well enough back to Ian that he gets the idea, too. It takes everything in Mickey not to drop the bags on the ground and climb through the car window into Ian's lap.

     "I love you," he whispered when he pulled back, smiling down at Ian like it was the first time he’s ever seen him, let alone kissed him.

 

     "Love you," Ian replied quietly. Mickey pecked his lips two more times, really not wanting to leave his boyfriend, even just for a second. He never got enough of telling Ian he loved him, or kissing him, or just _him_ in general.

 

     "I'll be back," he said again and finally pulled himself away and headed off into the wall of tall trees. The long walk past the trees gave Mickey lots of time to think. He was hoping that Ian would at least enjoy tonight, or think it was nice or something. He thinks about the smile he hopes he sees on Ian's face; his favorite smile, the smile he only ever saw when it was just the two of them. Mickey thought about how far they've come and everything that's happened in almost a year. He thought about how far they'd still go. Mickey had seen life with Ian Gallagher and life without Ian Gallagher, and he knew he never wanted to live without Ian in his life ever again. He wanted them to be together always. _Forever_. He closes his eyes and waits for a shudder that the word usually brings him, but nothing happens.

 

     That should've scared him. It used to. Nothing that could last that long seemed like a good thing. But, thinking of forever with Ian calmed him now, because he knew Ian was all he wanted, so what was there to be afraid of? He thought about the apartment they'd get down the road, a cheap house even further. Thought about what it would be like to marry Ian Gallagher. After his dream a few weeks before, Mickey hadn't been able to stop thinking about marriage. He had never been one for marriage, but there were a lot of things he wasn't into before Ian. He thinks he'd be able to do it now, though. Forever was only scary when Ian wasn't with him. Forever really wasn't that long with Ian Gallagher by his side. How would it feel to stand in front of a bunch of people he couldn't care less about, and declare his love for his ginger? Maybe a courthouse wedding would better suite him. Either way, he'd have to shelve that thought or he'd end up letting it slip and accidentally propose to Ian tonight. Imagine that.

 

 

⁂

 

 

     When he was finally finished setting up (which took more like twenty or thirty minutes than ten because everything had to be perfect), Mickey walked back to the car, preparing himself the whole way. Ian was sitting on the hood waiting for him, looking around at the trees, and smiling so wide when he caught sight of Mickey. "What fucking took so long? I almost sent out a search party," he joked as he hopped off the car.

 

     "Had to make sure everything was good." Mickey rubbed his nose with his knuckle and scrunched it slightly. He bit his lip and dropped his left hand down to hold Ian's. He usually hated that shit but tonight made him want to. Ian looked down at their hands and smiled up to Mickey.

 

     "Take me to my anniver-uh, birthday surprise," he almost whispered. Mickey nodded and pulled Ian along. They stayed silent on the walk to the trees, just hand-in-hand. They could hear nature around them and it was beautiful. They were far enough outside the city that there was no Chicago noise drowning out the crickets or the birds or the rushing water. Mickey thinks things were about to get so much better and he started getting nervous, feeling Ian buzzing beside him with anticipation. He squeezed Ian's hand, who returned the squeeze, and walked them past the wall of tall trees

 

     On one side, was a wide-open field of grass and flowers atop a gently-inclined hill. They were half circled in by the trees on their left, and on the other side, at the bottom of the hill, was a calm river. Towards the middle of the field was a large blanket and some pillows. There was a cooler with a case of beer, a bottle of liquor, and some food wrapped in plastic. The closer Mickey pulled Ian to the blanket the more he could see. There were roses scattered all around the area and little LED tea candle lights in the spaces between the flowers and petals. There was a folded piece of paper on one of the pillows. Mickey stared at Ian and held his breath.

 

     Ian just started down at everything in front of him and finally looked back at Mickey. He still didn't say anything though, and eventually just looked back down at the blanket. He probably thought it was the stupidest thing he’s ever seen. "It is stupid. _Fuck_. I was just gonna bring you out here with a case of beer but Mandy said I needed to do- fuck. I knew I shouldn't have done something like this, but I wanted to do something special and you can see-"

 

     "Mickey, I love it. This is- wow- I mean just look at this," he said quietly. He dropped Mickey's hand to cup his face and kissed him deeply. Mickey lifted his own hands to Ian's waist and pulled him close, slinking his right hand up to the side of his neck. He pulled away after a minute and stared at Ian.

 

     "Look up," he whispered breathlessly on his lips. When he did, Mickey heard him gasp and watched his mouth drop open. The whole sky was lit up with stars. Neither boy had ever seen such a clear sky or so many stars in their whole lives, not with the light pollution from the city. Mickey couldn't even tear his eyes off Ian to look at the stars himself yet, because he'd never seen something more beautiful. Ian's face was glowing from the starlight, but it was something more. His eyes were twinkling and if he relaxed his gaze enough, Mickey swore he saw the freckly skin blend into the inky sky like it belonged there. When Mickey finally did look up, he felt like he was still looking at Ian's skin. "Wanted to show you the stars. Show you what I see." Ian looked back down to Mickey.

 

     "What you see when?" Mickey looked at Ian and bit his lip.

 

     "When I look at you. When I'm with you. When I fucking _think_ about you, man." He looked down at the blanket and sighed. "I'm not- I'm not fucking good with my words and shit, you know that," he reached down and grabbed the folded paper, playing with it nervous hands, "I wrote this. I remember you telling me I could write stuff and you'd read it, so..." he handed it to Ian and went to sit on the blanket, too afraid of what could happen. It was nothing serious, but Mickey still psyched himself out too easily when it came to Ian. Ian stayed where he stood and opened the note, reading it to himself.

 

_my rose-colored boy,_

_youve been that annoying thing in my head for years telling me to look on the bright side and have a little hope and as much i wanted to fucking hate it i couldnt because i couldnt ever hate you. you got me to put my rose glasses back on. you fucking are my bright side and i dont even care. youve really helped me not be as much of a downer. i used to think i was going to die when i was young cause i didnt want to live that long but you made me change my mind. im sorry im a dick sometimes and for the shit i did but i love you so fucking much you ginger ass. i love you ian._

_-mick_

 

     Mickey was staring down at his hands in his lap, but looked up when Ian sat down next to him on the blanket. "It was short and dumb but I-" Ian cut him off with another deep kiss, swallowing the words and worried bubbling up from Mickey, who instantly relaxed into the kiss. Mickey moved his hands to hold Ian's face and keep him close, needing more. Always more. Ian pulled away too soon and rested his forehead on Mickey's so they could catch their breath.

 

     "I love you, too, Mick," Ian whispered eventually, and slid the note under to blanket so the wind wouldn't take it. Mickey raised his eyebrows.

 

     "Yeah?" Ian lifted his head off Mickey's and nodded. " _Real_ fuckin' gay," he smiled.

 

     "I'll show you gay," he said and pushed Mickey down onto one of the pillows and straddled him. He dipped his head down and sucked all over Mickey’s neck, as usual. Mickey pushed his head back into the pillow to offer more space for Ian and his mouth and let soft, quiet moans swim past his lips. He had his hands all over every part of Ian they could reach, and, in turn, Ian had slid his hands under Mickey's t-shirt and moved them all over his torso. His warm hands hands felt like fire on Mickey's skin and he loved it.

 

     Ian sat up and pulled his shirt over his head, then helped Mickey with his. He slid down and brought Mickey's jeans and boxers with him, so Mickey was completely naked, stopping to take off his shoes. Mickey leaned back into the blanketed grass with his hands behind his head to watch intensely as Ian finished getting himself undressed. Ian came back down to kiss Mickey again on the lips, and slowly made his way down his body one more time. When he was finally settled in between Mickey's legs he pressed a few more kisses to his hips and thighs before looking up to Mickey. He leaned forward, tongue first, and lowered his head onto Mickey's dick, who shut his eyes and let out a long moan upon impact.

 

     Apparently, Ian thought this was some kind of game, because he wasn't even blowing him for a full minute when he stopped and sat up. "Jesus Christ, Gallagher, why are you always doing this shit?" Ian laughed and started rummaging through one of the bags closest to where they were sat.

 

     "No offense to you and Sylvia but I hate giving blow jobs," Mickey snorted, "and I just wanna fuck you already."

 

     "Well then what the fuck are you looking for,” Micky asked, sitting up a bit to watch Ian.

 

     "Condoms. I think you forgot to pack them," he said looking in another bag.

 

     "I didn't fucking forget them," he said dryly.

 

     "Well there's none here," Ian argued, pulling another bag closer to him.

 

     "I know," Mickey sighed, just annoyed at this point.

 

     "Well do you have them in your pocket? I think I have-"

 

     "Jesus, Ian, you really are fucking stupid sometimes," Mickey huffed and sat up fully. Ian just stared with a confused look on his face. "I didn't bring condoms because I don't think we fucking need them anymore."

 

     "You don't?" Mickey laughed and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

 

     "No, I don't. I figure if we trust each other enough to put our dicks in each other's mouths that I can trust you to put your dick in my ass. Plus, _on the bright side_ ," he poked his tongue out of the corner of his mouth the try to hide his smile, "we'll save a shit ton of money on not buyin’ 'em." The two men just stared at each other, each of their smiles slowly growing.

 

     " _That_ was the fucking _hottest_ thing you've ever said." Ian pushed Mickey down and hovered over him. "Say it again," he breathed on the skin of Mickey's neck and kissed it with an open mouth, sucking lightly.

 

     "The bright side," Mickey moaned softly. Ian lifted his hand up and slid three fingers into Mickey's mouth while he continued to suck on his neck. Mickey willingly accepted the long fingers, sucking and dragging his tongue all over them. When they slowly pulled out, with a thing string of saliva, Ian sat up and scooted down a little more. He moved his left hand up to the side of Mickey's face and rubbed his thumb over his cheek.

 

     Mickey let his lips part for a sharp intake of breath as Ian slid in his first finger. He kept his pace slow and steady. Ian lowered his head and kissed all over Mickey's chest and stomach. "Bright side," he whispered into Mickey's stomach as he slowly slid his second finger in. Mickey moaned even higher and closed his eyes. He was spreading his fingers and moving them faster, and lowered his left hand to rub over Mickey's thigh and he shivered under the touch.

 

     "Come up here," Mickey breathed out after a moan. Ian lifted himself up and kissed Mickey. Their tongues were all over the other's, and there was slobber running down Mickey's chin. His moans were lost in Ian's mouth as Ian finally made it to three fingers. He started getting sloppy with his hand, trying to get Mickey ready sooner. When he removed his fingers, Mickey actually whined, and he hated it. Ian sat back and looked around their things for a minute with low brows, and back to Mickey. "Okay, so the condoms were on purpose but I definitely did forget the lube." Ian shook his head.

 

     "You're never packing again," he laughted and rolled his eyes. He sat back up on his knees and spat into his hand to start stroking himself.

 

     "Again? You think I'm fucking taking you on more trips?" Ian looked off somewhere in thought for a moment.

 

     "Yeah, totally. Lots of fun trips," he smiled. Mickey just rolled his eyes. Always the self-assured, cocky asshole. Ian scooted back to Mickey, and ever so slowly pushed his dick into Mickey, wasting no time. "F-fuck." The whole way in, Mickey let out a long, ragged moan. He closed his eyes so tight he saw flashing lights and let his mouth hang open while Ian stilled for a minute. "Hey," he put his right hand on the side of Mickey's face, "look at me, Mick," he whispered. Mickey's eyes fluttered open and he looked into the green eyes. Ian smiled and continued moving his hips. He was moving so slow it was almost painful but Mickey didn't tell him to go faster.

 

     Ian eventually did speed up but not much, and somehow Mickey preferred it that way. All of his senses were flooded with Ian; he could feel the man everywhere. Could taste him every time he came down to kiss him. Ian was all he could see and hear and think about. He was the epitome of beauty in this moment; his green eyes are dark but still sparkling, his lips were parted. He was breathing heavily and moaning deeply. The bright stars in the sky gave Ian this glow that was _so_ fucking beautiful, Mickey would probably cry if he were someone else. He was so at peace and calm right now; he was with his boyfriend, the man that he loved, the water from the river could be heard over their moans, and the stars were literally twinkling. He never wanted this to end.

 

     Slow was different for them, but not new; they just never really did slow. Mickey remembers the first time he rode Ian; it was slow then, but it was weird then. _This_ , it wasn't weird. He thinks the difference is that now they know. They probably were both thinking about loving the other back then, but still didn't know, still hadn't believed it. But they knew now. They knew they loved each other. This is what it was like to be in love. This is how it felt and sounded and moved. Mickey lifted his hands from where they had been roaming Ian's body still, and cupped his face; he could just feel the damn love he had rushing through his blood stream. They just stared at each other for a while, both too caught up in the other. "I love you, Ian. I fucking love you," he moaned loudly as Ian sped up more.

 

     "I- fuck- I love you, too, Mickey." Ian closed his eyes tight and dropped his head down to Mickey's shoulder. He's all but given up the slow pace at this point; the love and passion is still there, but so is the need. Mickey's hands are on Ian's back and he's dragging his nails all the way down, pulling higher moans from him. "So good, Mick. You're so good. God- I fucking love you." His moans and ramblings became more muddled and staggered in Mickey's skin as his speed still increased. He slowly raised up and moved his right hand onto the blanket and his left onto Mickey's hip.

 

     "Fuck!" Mickey arched his back hard and threw his head back. There was a slight drag that you didn't get while wearing a condom that Mickey fucking loved. It was, at the same time, un-noticeably changed from every other time they've fucked, but somehow so different. It was probably just the knowledge that this is was close as physically possible you can be with a person, and he was doing it with Ian. He felt so connected to Ian and something about right now felt more real than anything else he could think up from the past. He let out an endless string of curses in between moans and Ian continued pounding into him while his head just bobbed on the pillow. He was so close to the edge he didn't think he would last.

 

     "I-I'm- fuck- I'm gonna cum," Ian moaned. He slid his right hand down further until it was gripping Mickey's thigh. He let go to move it again, but it was too late. Mickey was yelling Ian's name, along with a slew of profanities, and was cumming all up his stomach. Ian slowed for a second but quickly picked the pace back up. Mickey covered his face with his hands in realization and laid there until Ian could cum himself, which he did; with Mickey's name on his lips, and his head on his shoulder again. Mickey kept his face covered as Ian slowly pulled out of Mickey, both groaning, and laid down next to him. They didn't talk or move for a few minutes, just panted together. Until Ian finally broke the silence. "D-did you-"

 

     "Yes."

 

     "You-"

 

     "Yes."

 

     "You came without me touching your dick?" Mickey dropped his hands from his face and sighed.

 

     "Yes, Ian, I fucking did. Make your fucking comments now because this shit doesn't leave the bl-" Ian looked over at Mickey, confused on why he had stopped talking mid-sentence. "Okay, m-maybe we still use condoms sometimes. Or, just, maybe all the time." Ian sat up and looked down at him.

 

     "You think you came because-"

 

     "Thats- no, different topic now. I literally have your cum leaking out of my fucking asshole and you will never understand how fucking disgusting this is." Ian looked like really was trying to keep a straight face, it just didn't last long. He busted out laughing and ended up falling back on the blanket. "You fucking- I wanna hit you or something but I'm scared to move right now!" He swung his arm out to his right side to hit Ian as best as he could. "You little fucking shit. You're never cumming inside me again."

 

     "Not even your mouth? How 'bout on you? Could make you look like a Jackson Pollock painting."

 

     "Oh, fuck off, Ian."

 

     "You're daddy's very mean, Sylvia." Ian finally calmed down from laughing and moved to hover over Mickey's stomach. "We gotta work on his punishments." He dipped his head to lick Mickey's cum off him. Fucker was just trying to distract him because he knew Mickey loved when he did that. "I was gonna say you cumming like that was hot, just so you know."

 

     "Punish- I'll fucking kill ya, how's that for punishment?" Ian sat up and shrugged.

 

     "Efficient but a bit dramatic."

 

     "Seventeen-year-old Ian is a shit."

 

     "But he's _your_ shit," Ian smiled. Mickey shook his head and scrunched his nose.

 

     "Definitely doesn't make it better. I gotta get this shit out and off of me, wanna get in the river?" He wiggles his eyebrows and sat up. Ian looked at the water and back to Mickey.

 

     "Fuck no. You didn't actually take me to Mexico, it's probably freezing." Mickey just stood up and stretched.

 

     "Yeah whatever. We coulda kept each other warm, Gallagher. I'll be back." Mickey turned around and walked down the leveled hill and approached the water. It wasn't _freezing_ , the summer sun keeping it warmed throughout the night. But, it _was_ chilly and fucking disgusting. He didn't know where this water came from or where it went but there was garbage all over and stunk like hell. He dunked his whole body in as fast as he could and rubbed his skin to clean himself off of any sweat and jizz. After a couple minutes, he turned around and headed back toward to the 'shore' where Ian had come down to, now wearing his boxers and t-shirt, with one of the bags.

 

     "You're gonna get fucking sick doing that shit, Mick." He handed him the bag and watched him rummage. Thank fuck Micky already knew about the river and was smart enough to bring towels and new clothes. He dried himself off and pulled on his boxers and a pair of sweats from the bag. "Was it cold?" Ian cocked an eyebrow at him as they headed back to the blanket.

 

     "Nah, like a fuckin' sauna, man." Mickey visibly shivered as the cool air hit his wet skin. "Real gross though, ya dodged a bullet not hopin' in."

 

     "Mhm," Ian hummed skeptically.

 

     "I had to fucking clean your cum off me, shut the fuck up." They made it back to the blanket and sat down. Mickey dug through the cooler a bit. "You hungry?" Ian shook his head, so he just grabbed two beer cans and handed one to Ian. He also found his t-shirt and pulled it on. They each took a couple drinks before laying down together. Mickey scooted to his right to get closer to Ian and his warmth, who lifted his arm so Mickey could rest his head on his chest. Ian ran his hand up and down Mickey's arm and side and he just hummed his approval. He loved this. Loved being with Ian, touching him. Loved being out here where no one could bother them. Loved Ian.

 

     This is everything Mickey had ever wanted and thought he couldn't have. He had spent so many night dreaming about what _this_ would be like, it almost didn't feel real now. He spent his life chasing Ian in some way, and now felt like he finally caught him and won. It was easy sailing from here, at least for the most part, and he knows it. No more waking up to an empty bed and thinking things were done for good, because was probably just in the bathroom or making food. No more getting jealous of any male names he would throw out in conversation, because he knew Ian wasn't sleeping around anymore, and truly trusted him. Now, it was just Mickey and Ian, and that was such a relaxing thought. He really did think he could do this for the rest of his life; be with Ian.

 

     "Look," Mickey said quietly and pointed in the sky, "there's our belt." Ian tuned his head to follow Mickey's line of sight.

 

     "Yeah, and over there," he pointed somewhere else in the sky, drawing Mickey's attention, "that looks like one of your dick constellations." Mickey laughed hard and genuine and pinched Ian's side.

 

     "You loved those dicks."

 

     "I love _you_." Mickey snuggled his face further into Ian to hide his smile.

 

     "I love you too, fuckhead." Ian kissed the top of his head.

 

     "Thanks for doing this for me. I love this."

 

     "Anything for my fuckin' rose-colored boy." Mickey lifted his head to kiss Ian who easily accepted and returned the gesture. "Happy birthday, Ian."

 

     "Happy anniversary, Mick," Ian smiled smugly. Mickey just rolled his eyes. This _was_ half anniversary. _Let him have it_. "I can't wait to see what you're doing for me next year." Mickey just snorts at that.

 

     "You think I'm gonna be around next year to do shit for you?" Mickey closes his eyes and moves his hand down to sneak his thumb under Ian's shirt and rub his hip.

 

     "Mhm. And the year after that in case you were wondering." Mickey can actually hear the doofy grin Ian is definitely wearing.

 

     "Yeah? We’ll see about that."

 


	22. Chapter 22

**_ Chapter Twenty-Two _ **

 

 

 

 

     Over the years, the life of Mickey Milkovich slowly transformed into the life of Mickey and _Ian_ Milkovich. The two had become so intertwined with one another, it was almost like they couldn’t breathe without the other, but only in the best way. There was rarely a time anymore where you'd find one without the other, outside of work (Ian at the fire station and Mickey for a moving company in the area). Granted, they rarely left the house anyway, they still didn't travel too far without one another, mostly upon Mickey's own request.

 

     Mickey had gone so long only being able to watch Ian from afar, or only have thoughts and dreams of him. And, when he finally got to have him in some way, it was ripped from his grasp and thrown into the garbage disposal. After Ian came back from his hiatus of sorts, Mickey wouldn’t let him out of his sight. It was kind of an unspoken promise between the two of them, where they both knew they needed to stick around for the other. And it worked. Mickey eventually got over his fears that he’d wake up one morning to find Ian had left for better things. Mickey no longer thought of better things, because what they had was the _best_ thing. He knew it.

 

     Still, you’ll never truly kill that nagging in the back of your mind, telling you things weren’t as good as they seemed, at least not so easily. No one knew that better than Mickey. So, he had to make sure Ian knew he was never going anywhere, and at the same time make sure Ian was planning on staying just as long. He’d learned the hard way that it takes equal efforts from both sides to make things work, and he was going to do everything in his power to cement that within them; even something he never thought he’d be willing to do.

 

     It had been two years after they officially started dating, and summer, so about three years since they had started seeing each other from the start; but it felt like a lifetime and five minutes all at once. They were laying in their bed one night; the room was small, the whole apartment was, nothing too exciting. When you first walked in, you were standing in the living room, practically. They had a tv and some movies on the same wall as the front door, and a couch on the one opposite, with a coffee table in front of it. The side wall of the living room was a big sliding glass door that led to their balcony patio. On the right of the front door was the small dining room, which was just a small table, and a kitchen. Their bedroom was in between the living room and dining room, down a pretty much nonexistent hallway, with a bathroom right across.

 

     Mickey had been on his side of the bed, Ian on his own, and the dogs in between; Dipper's head on Ian's lap, and Orion's on Mickey's. The twin, spotted, Australian Shepherd lab mixed dogs were so insistent on sleeping with their dads every night, that Mickey had to actually buy a bigger bed to accommodate the whole family. But it was money well spent; the only soft spot bigger than the one he had for Ian, was the one he had for those pups.

 

     They were mindlessly watching a Die Hard marathon on the tv as they slowly drifted to sleep. This was more or less their nightly routine these days, and while he never thought he’d be this domestic in his life, let alone with another person, Mickey loved it. Mickey had turned to Ian in the gentle glow of the tv and just flat out asked; he wasted enough time in his life, did he really need to waste anymore? "Wanna get married?" Mickey would never forget the look on Ian's face, and it would bring tears to his eyes in later years. Ian slowly turned to Mickey with a shocked expression; eyes wide, jaw dropped, the whole shebang.

 

     "To you,” he asked, rather _stupidly_ , Mickey thought.

 

     "No, I'm thinkin' of puttin’ out a personal ad and marryin' you off to the highest bidder. Yes me, fuckhead." Ian’s initial shock faded almost instantly, and was replaced with a smile, _Mickey's_ smile; the smile that only came out for Mickey. "I'm not fuckin' goin' anywhere, man, and unless you are I don't see any fucking reason we shouldn't." He bit his lip because this really was it. This could potentially be the end, _or_ he’d marry Ian fucking Gallagher.

 

     "When," Ian asked breathlessly. Mickey shrugged and sat up in bed a little straighter, not helping the fact that he was now staring just as bad.

 

     "Tomorrow? In a week? In a fucking _year_? I don't care when or where or how, Ian," Mickey said softly and reached over a snoring Orion to grab Ian's hand. "I wanna fuckin' marry you." Ian nodded fast enough to give even Mickey a headache. With how fast he responded, Ian must’ve known he’s wanted this for at least as long as Mickey had. That thought should’ve calmed his racing heart, but only quickened because Ian really did love him, didn’t he?

 

     "Were getting married," Ian sighed happily while beaming like the damn sun.

 

     It had taken a couple months to get things worked out. Mickey kept saying he didn't care how the wedding went down, but every time Ian came to him with more details, he'd turn down the idea or just change it on the spot. Ian had gotten all huffy that Mickey kept changing things and being difficult, so he spilt up the jobs down the middle. They each got to do the things on their list however they wanted, with no input from the other. It did cause a bit of a mix and match wedding, but they were both happy, and what else really mattered?.

 

     Ian, being in charge of location, _insisted_ on doing it on the hill that Mickey had taken him for his birthday years ago. It had quickly become his favorite place, and they had spent many days down there when they needed a break from reality. Mickey, on the other hand, _begged_ Ian for this one last change.

 

     "Come on, man, the field s’nice and all and that's our new spot, but what about our _old_ spot? Our _real_ spot? I don't wanna marry you somewhere we go to when we're stressed with fucking gross river water. I wanna marry you on the little league field-“

 

     “Oh, you mean where you beat the shit outta me? Right, because _that’s_ got no stress to it-”

 

     “No, Ian, Jesus fucking Christ. Where it all started. Where I fucking fell in love with you." Mickey looked at his fiancé from across the table at dinner one night. Ian just kept eating his steak like no one had spoken at all, while Mickey put his silverware down, and focus all his attention on Ian. "Ian, I'm serious. We can save money on seating, just let everyone sit in the bleachers. I'll fucking trade you something on the damn list if it's that big of a deal-"

 

     "I want the invitations. I wanna make the guest list, I don't trust you," he finally perked up. Mickey narrowed his eyes.

 

     "Fucking uncalled for, but fair enough. I don't know how I got stuck with that shit anyway." The pair smiled at each other, and hooked their ankles together under the table while they finished dinner, because that’s just how they were now. Domestic as _shit_.

 

     It wasn't a big wedding; only the important people came. The whole Gallagher clan was there, along with a couple family friends. Mickey had his brothers and sister, and he didn't need anyone else. He’d probably had invited Ian if he wasn’t fucking marrying the guy. They had tables of food and liquor along the outside of the dugout, and a couple rows of fold out chairs around the home plate, and Ian and Mickey were to stand on second, of course, with Ian's friend, Kevin, marrying them. It was shaping up to me a good, ol' fashion, Southside wedding. There had been a minor argument just moments before the whole thing was supposed to start, however.

 

     "Mickey, the dogs cannot be the best men. They can't give us the rings and-"

 

     "Yeah they can! Orion! Dip! Rings!" Both spotted dogs came running to the couple at full speed, kicking up dust and dirt with them, before sitting in front of their dads, panting happily. They were wearing bow ties on their collars, and on the ties, were hanging the rings. "See! They're good boys!" Mickey beamed and turned and bent down to the dogs to scratch their heads. "Huh? Aren't ya? Good boys, huh? Yes, you are! Good boys!"

 

     "Okay, but I already told lip he could be my best man so I don't know how he's gonna feel when-"

 

     "Fuck how he feels, it's our wedding, isn't it," Mickey asked, standing up fully again.

 

     "Yes, Mick, _our_ wedding. What if- okay, yeah, what if you told Iggy to be your best man, too and-"

 

     "Orion is my best man, Ian, and I will not have you-"

 

     "-and then the dogs can stand up with us too, we'll have four best men." Mickey pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes.

 

     "The boys still get to give us our rings? I spent a lot of time teaching them that trick." Ian looked down at the still panting, smiling, pups who just looked like they were mocking him.

 

     "You called them. They should've been coming when their names are called since they were puppies." Mickey rolled his eyes and patted each dog on the head.

 

     "They can now, can't they?  Come on, we got a wedding to- we got- it- it's time for the fucking wedding," Mickey huffed and walked towards the 'audience' to tell his brother the news. Iggy had eventually come back around to the idea of Ian with his brother, once he realized he was in it for the long haul, so was thrilled to be asked to be in the wedding. The same couldn’t really be said for Lip and Fiona’s feelings towards Mickey, but he couldn’t care less.

 

     It was in Mickey's vows that he had really made it clear he never wanted to leave Ian's side again, solidifying their sort of promise to stay together as often as possible. They stood up in front of their families, with Lip, Iggy, and the twins, and Ian went first. His eyes never left Mickey's as he spoke.

 

     "I know you say that I'm the light and hope in you, but I think you are for me, too. I always look for the good because I have to believe things are better. But, _you're_ better, _you're_ the good. You've been the easiest thing for me to look for good in. I love you so damn much, Mick." Ian smiled at Mickey, who rubbed and scrunched his nose. Ian didn't often go off on how he felt about Mickey like Mickey always did, so his heart always go caught in his throat when he heard how his ginger really felt about him. He'd still have doubts about Ian loving him or staying with him from time to time, so the reassurance was beautiful.

 

     When Ian was done, Mickey reached into his tux pocket and unfolded the paper he wrote is own vows on. He took a deep, shaky breath, and looked up at Ian for a second, who smiled and nodded. "Ian, you've been a part of me and my life in some way since I was just a damn kid on the little league team. On this fucking field. Just looking at you, you were always something I couldn't be or have or even know; a hopefulness that I didn't even fuckin' understand. But you still wormed your way in my head and stayed. And whenever things were bad I thought about the goofy fucking ginger kid who shouted at me about my damn piss, right fuckin’ here. I fucking fell in love with you _right here_ , and I haven't stopped, I never will. You've been my hope and light and my fucking _bright side_. I know what it's like to not have you in my life and it fucking sucks, man, so that can't happen anymore. I went long enough without you, I don't ever want to leave your side again. The bright side of marrying you is I get to be with you for the rest of my fucking life. I fucking love you, you damn rose-colored boy, and I won't ever stop."

 

     Mickey closed his eyes and, with a blush on his cheeks he could feel heating his face, looked up to Ian, who was looking back and actually fucking _crying_. He kept his face level and calm but he still had tears running down his cheeks and his eyes were sparkling. Mickey looked around at their small crowed and most people looked confused, but still in awe of the sentiments. He huffed and rubbed his nose again, cleared his throat and nodded to Kev to keep going. He still didn’t like attention focsed on him, unless it was Ian, and now he felt too exposed. When Kev, had asked for the rings, the dogs ran in between Ian and Mickey (with slight encouragement from Mickey when he had to call their names because they didn't take the hint, which made Ian roll his eyes).

 

     _This is it_ , Mickey kept saying in his head as he stared at Ian. He was about to marry his boy. "Do you, Ian, take Mi- Mik- uh-" Kevin tried, looking at his notes and back to Mickey, and Ian looked at Mickey just as confused.

 

     "It's-it's Mickey, Kev-" Ian tried helping.

 

     "No, uh, Mikhailo, tha- that's how you say it," Mickey nodded to Kevin again, speaking in a quiet tone. Ian snapped his head back to Mickey with a more confused look, but he just shook his head. No way Ian was going to let that one go, he knew it.

 

     When they were finally announced as Mr. and Mr. Milkovich and they shared their first kiss as a married couple, the dogs barked and the crowd cheered. It was a quick kiss, but said everything each other had wanted to convey. And, when they pulled back and looked at each other, they were both wearing the smiles that the other loved so much, and only they got to ever see. They stayed where they were, up on second base, while people took photos and lined up for food. "Mikhailo? When the fuck was I gonna hear about that?" Ian leaned in to whisper, Mickey just sighed.

 

     "I was shootin' for fucking never, but fucking Kev said I had to fill out those forms with my full name. It's Ukrainian, my mother's side." He shook his head with low brows.

 

     "Well, I'm going to use the fuck out of that in bed." Ian kissed his husband’s cheek and ran off to his family before any further protest could take place.

 

     They spent the rest of day and well into the night partying with their families, in what Mickey was learning was typical Gallagher fashion. They stayed on the field and ate cheap catering food and got drunk on just as cheap booze provided by the Alibi, thanks to Ian knowing the owners. There was loud music and even louder laughter, and it was actually really nice. Mickey had spent most of the night sitting on one of the picnic benches that someone stole from the park across the street, talking to whoever came over to wish their best to him, but mostly watching his husband. Ian was dancing with their sisters and joking around with his brothers, and he just looked so fucking happy. He loved seeing Ian like this. Every so often, Ian would come sit next to Mickey; see how he was doing, ask him to dance, make out with him. The drunker Ian got the more handsy he got as well, and the more he wanted to dance with Mickey. It wasn't until everyone was gone that he finally gave in.

 

     "We should probably start packing this shit up so we can go home. I don't think we can leave it and I definitely don't want to fucking sleep out here," Ian said as he sat down next to Mickey after loading their sleeping dogs into the backseat of the truck. He'd stopped drinking alcohol and instead was downing water around the time the first guests left, so he was sober enough to drive them home, allowing Mickey to still drink some more. _Bless that man_.

 

     "Yeah okay, but, I wanna do something first," Mickey stated, rubbing his chin.

 

     "Mickey, I love you, you know I do, and I know fucking outside is kinda our thing, but we've got our own place now and I just don't think our first night as a married couple should be in the fucking dugout." Mickey rolled his eyes and stood up. He walked over to the stereo and plugged his phone in. 

 

     "So, I was lookin’ for some shit online, and found this song. And I knew you-“

 

     "Perusing the internet for romantic songs as a last-minute attempt to impress me? I like it."

 

     -you’d want to dance. But I don't want you to get caught up in who fucking sings it because it’s fucking embarrassing so I'm not telling you shit." He walked in front of Ian and held out his hand as the gentle strumming of a guitar seeped through the speakers. Ian smiled up and grabbed his hand, letting Mickey pull him from the bench. Mickey lead them into the center of their field. He kept his right hand in Ian's left and went to put his other on his hip.

 

     _I got a heart, and I got a soul_

_Believe me, I will use them both_

 

     "What are you doing?"

 

     "Trying to fuckin' dance with my husband?"

 

     "Okay but," he lifted Mickey's hand onto his shoulder, "I'm taller so I lead."

 

     "Fuck off 'you lead' no, bullshit I-"

 

     "Grow a couple inches and you can lead." Ian dropped his hand to Mickey's hip and they began swaying lightly. Mickey grumbled under his breath about where Ian could shove his extra inches.

 

     _Baby, I don't want to feel alone_

 

     "Wait, is this-"

 

     "Shut the fuck up," Mickey snapped harmlessly.

 

     "You're making our first and probably only dance to a fucking boyband?"

 

     "Honestly the fact you know who it is so much more embarrassing than the fact that I picked it." Ian pursed his lips at that.

 

     "I just don't know about that," he argued. Mickey shook his head and chuckled.

 

     "Was a good weddin' wasn't it," Mickey asked quietly. He was looking up into Ian's sparkling eyes and he felt his heart swell. Under the glowing lights of the stars, he just looked so beautiful. He felt like he was falling in love with his ginger all over again.

 

     "Really fuckin' good. My sisters wouldn't stop crying and Carl kept asking how we have sex, but was good besides that. Really good." Ian was smiling brighter than every fucking star above their heads and Mickey felt like he couldn’t catch his breath.

 

     _We took a chance_

_God knows we tried_

_Yet all along I knew we'd be fine_

 

     "The kids were good too, huh? They were good best men." Ian shook his head and laughed.

 

     "You know they’re not real children, right? They're puppies. Not even puppies anymore, they're fucking two years old." Mickey scoffed and pinched Ian's neck as they changed the direction of their light circling.

 

     " _Barely_. And don't talk about my babies like that." Mickey moved his left hand up to the side of Ian's face and rubbed his thumb across the freckly skin.

 

_So kiss me where I lie down_

_My hands pressed to your cheeks_

 

     "You had fun, though," Mickey asked even quieter. Ian nodded.

 

     "I think marrying you was the second funnest thing I've ever done." Mickey quirked his eyebrows and tilted his head.

 

     "Yeah? What's the first?"

 

     "Well, fucking you s’pretty fun, so I think that," Ian shrugged through his fucking grin.

 

     "You're fucking hopeless," Mickey laughed and shook his head. He smiled wider when Ian dropped his forehead to rest it against Mickey's.

 

     "I think we both know that's a damned lie," he whispered.

 

_And all I can do is say that these arms were_

_made for holdin' you_

_And I want a love like you made me feel_

_When we were eighteen_

 

     "I love you, Ian," Mickey whispered.

 

     "Love you, too, _Mikhailo_ ," Ian replied with a smirk. Mickey rolled his eyes but lowered his hand slightly to hold it against Ian's neck, and pushed his chin forward to catch his lips.

 

_I have loved you since we were eighteen_

_Long before we both thought the same thing_

_To be loved and to be in love_

 

     Their swaying and dancing eventually stopped and they were just holding each other's face and necks and asses while kissing as if their lives depended on it; and maybe they did. By the time the song had ended and was looping to restart, they were pulling away and practically panting. "Let's get home, I got some husbandy things I wanna try tonight," Mickey wiggles his eyebrows. They had packed up their truck and headed back to the shitty Southside apartment Mickey had once promised Ian, and didn't leave the house once for a week; their own, cheap honeymoon.

 

 

⁂

 

 

     Mickey wasn't the biggest worrier; he thought the best way for things to be was to let them happen the way they happen. You'll only make yourself more problems if you worry about everything all the time. So, he doesn't. _Except_ when it comes to Ian and his chosen line of profession. He hates an endless number of things about Ian being a firefighter; the two biggest being the nights he can't be at home and sleep in his own bed with Mickey, and not knowing if he's going to come home at all, or he'll get a call from a hospital regarding the wellbeing of his husband.

 

     So, when Ian came into the apartment one night while Mickey was making dinner, and he noticed Ian ran right passed him and straight to their room, he hated himself for worrying. But, Ian has never walked in the door and not greeted Mickey; even when they were fighting, Ian made a point to at least say ‘hey.’ Mickey turned the meat sauce he was heating on low and followed Ian into the bedroom, curious as to the lack of acknowledgment from the man. He found his husband pulling on a hoodie, and moving oddly. "It's like a hundred degrees out right now, why the fuck are you wearing that shit?" Ian refused to turn around and look at him.

 

     "Just wanna be comfortable..." he trailed quietly and bent down oddly to pick up his clothes from the floor. He was keeping his right arm suspiciously stiff.

 

     "What's wrong with your arm?" Mickey stepped around Ian to look at him with furrowed brows, and noticed used gauze stuck to the dirty shirt in Ian's hand. "Ian what the fuck is wrong with your arm?"

 

     "It's nothing- I just- there was an accident at work." Mickey's eyebrows flew up.

 

     "What the fuck do you mean 'an accident'?" Ian sighed and sat on the bed.

 

     "There was a bad house fire today, and there was a kid in there, but no one could find him. And I did, and right when we were going through the door, I slid on something and my shoulder got caught in the fire. It's not bad, it was only for a second, and I got it cleaned up. Just a bit of a burn." Mickey was pacing in front of where Ian was sitting and ran his hands through his hair.

 

     "What did you slip- wait. How did your burn your shoulder? You were wearing your suit." Ian looked down with a guilty face. "Ian! Why the fuck weren't you wearing your suit on the job?" Mickey was yelling now.

 

     "I was! Well, at first. When I found the kid, he wouldn't come with me ‘cause he was scared of me, so-so I took the top half off and-"

 

     "Ian, you could've fucking died! You could've choked on smoke or fucking got trapped on something or burned to death! You can't fucking do stupid shit like that!" Ian stood up from the bed and Mickey felt like he towered over him and he started yelling back. Ian always made him feel so small when they fought.

 

     " _I_ am not my main concern when I'm working, _especially_ not when there's a fucking _kid_! I have to get everyone out of the building alive-"

 

     "Including yourself, Ian!" The dogs had stridden into the room, and were laying on the bed now, watching their parents fight (they always had to supervise the fights). "You're supposed to put your oxygen mask on before helping others! What good are you to anyone if you're dead? What good are you to _me_ if your dead?" His voice faltered and cracked on the last sentence. He was breathing heavily and staring up at Ian; he could feel the tears building. "You can't fucking die on me, man," he whispered.

 

     "Mick," Ian shook his head and cupped his husbands face in his hands, "I'm not going anywhere. I fucked up. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

 

     "Fuck right you won't. You can't do this anymore. You can't be a firefighter anymore, Ian." Ian dropped his hands and stepped away from Mickey.

 

     "Excuse me?"

 

     "You can't _do_ this anymore. I can’t deal with this shit,” Mickey sighed. Ian shook his head and laughed darkly.

 

     "So, what, I'm supposed to stop doing something I love because _you_ can't deal with it?"

 

     "That's what marriage is fucking about, we do this shit _together_ and stop doing the dumb shit that worries each other."

 

     "Fuck you, Mickey," Ian laughed and shook his head. He turned around to grab his clothes and toss them in the basket behind Mickey.

 

     "No, Ian, fuck _you_. Come on, Orion," he called. The dog jumped off the bed and followed his dad towards the bedroom door.

 

     "Where are you going," Ian asked sadly.

 

     "I'm sleeping on the fucking couch. I don't wanna look at you or be around you."

 

     "You need a blanket and-" Mickey slammed the door before Ian could get the rest of his sentence out. He felt like complete shit. Maybe he shouldn't have picked a fight or have been so harsh, but Ian _definitely_ shouldn't be such a fucking _idiot_. He sighed and went through the sliding glass door to smoke a cigarette with Orion on the patio, which turned into half a pack, and eventually the whole pack. He left the door open to listen for Ian, but he never left the bedroom. Even two hours later, after Mickey had plated their now cold dinner, and chose to sit on the couch and wait, he still hadn't left the room.

 

     "God fucking damnit," Mickey sighed. He hated being the first to break in a fight, but even more, he hated fighting with Ian and seeing him in pain. He went into the bathroom and grabbed the first-aid kit Ian insisted on keeping under the sink. He took a deep breath and stepped into his bedroom, Orion close on his heels. Ian was facing the door in bed, but had his face covered with the blanket. He probably wanted to face away but couldn't because of his damn shoulder. "Ian?"

 

     "What?" he snapped. Mickey stepped into the room fully and closed the door.

 

     "We gotta clean your arm or it's gonna get infected. And you haven't fucking left the room so I know you didn't do it already."

 

     "You're watching me now?"

 

     "I’m always watching you, you know that. I'm worried, Ian, Jesus fucking Christ," he huffed, "just roll the fuck over and let me clean your arm, asshole." Ian sighed but still did what he was told. Even though Mickey was mad, he still loved his idiot, and didn't want them to fight anymore. He climbed on the bed and straddled Ian, hoping if he acted _cute,_ as much as he hated it, it would get him some extra points. He helped Ian take off the sweater, and placed the open kit on his stomach. He grimaced when he saw the burn.

 

     "That bad," Ian asked, just above a whisper. Mickey looked back at Ian and gave him a sad shrug.

 

     "Gonna scar like a bitch, but we don't need to amputate." He smiled at Ian's snort. He cleaned the wound as best he could, and covered it with an antibiotic ointment and a large bandage. He leaned down and kissed the injured shoulder as lightly as he could. "I'm sorry," he whispered when he sat back up, "I was an ass."

 

     "You're always an ass," Ian replied quietly, with a small smile. Mickey rolled his eyes and tossed the first-aid kit on the ground so he could lay next to Ian. "I'm sorry too. I- I was thinking about it. Firefighter isn't like, my passion or whatever. I'm not gonna be one my whole life. It could be a couple years, but I'll get a new job eventually." Mickey nodded into the darkness.

 

     "And- and I'll be okay with it. I'll wait. I can wait. Just- just don't wear your fucking uniform around here unless you have to. I fucking hate it. But never fucking take it off at work, you fucking idiot. Don't do stupid shit like that anymore."

 

     "Okay, Mick." The dogs were snoring at their feet and Mickey reached his left hand down to hold Ian's right in between them.

 

     "Want to switch sides tonight so you don't have to sleep on your shoulder?" Ian shook his head.

 

     "No, I hate your side."

 

     "Okay, fuckhead, roll over then." Mickey let go of Ian's hand and the two rolled onto their left sides. Mickey scooted up onto the pillows a bit, and slid his right hand over Ian's side until they intertwined their fingers in front of Ian's stomach. He kissed the back of the red hair, and they were quiet for a minute.

 

     "You can get you a tattoo when it heals, to cover the scarring," he said to Ian with a smile.

 

     "Oh yeah? Of what?"

 

     "A fuckin' rose, man. That would look real good on your shoulder." Ian nodded.

 

     "You can get a matching one with me," Ian offed, and Mickey's smile somehow grew.

 

     "Want me to?" Ian nodded. "Yeah, okay. Let’s fuckin' do it."

 

     And, that's just what they did when Ian's burn fully healed and was nothing but an ugly scar and reminder. They each got the same bloomed, blood red rose over the ball of their shoulders; Ian's on his right, Mickey's on his left. They lined up when they slept.

 

 

⁂

 

 

     With the money they had saved from the lack of honeymoon four years before, and the money they set aside from every paycheck, Mickey and Ian were able to buy their own house. They were either able to rent out a decent place in a nice neighborhood or just buy a fixer upper, still on the edge Southside. It was really a no brainer for them; they could still be close to their families, they could do their repairs over the years, and, honestly, Mickey almost _did_ get hard when he heard the word 'homeowner' because of all their damn domestic dirty talk.

 

     The house wasn't actually as bad as it could've been and was in better condition than either of their childhood homes. It was close enough to their shitty Southside that they could keep their gritty street cred, while also being close enough to Northside so things were a little more cleaned up, so they felt a little safer and more secure. It was a one story, two-bedroom house. There were two small lawns on either side of the walk way up to the front door, one going all the way around to the right side of the house and held a large tree.

 

     The living room was big and open and immediately on the left when you walked in the house. They had an old, long couch right by the door, facing the left where their tv was, and a large coffee table in the center of the room, with two dog beds on either side. There was also a big window on the wall of the door, and a fireplace on the wall of the tv. On the right of the living room was a kitchen and dining room, with a sliding glass door to the large backyard. There was an entryway in the middle of the long wall that connected the living and dining rooms, with a single step that led to an open area with a small bedroom on the left wall. They used the room as a spare bedroom on the rare occasion someone stayed with them, but was mostly used for storage. They kept a desk and computer in the space outside of the bedroom, along with two more dog beds.

 

     On the right side of the house from the front door, just past the wall, was a small, boxed hallway of sorts. On one end was the small bathroom, and on the other end was a bigger bedroom, Mickey and Ian's bedroom, where, along with their bed, nightstands, and dresser with their tv, was still two more dog beds. While the dogs almost never used their own beds, and opted for the couch or Ian and Mickey's bed, Mickey still wanted his babies to have options.

 

     On moving day, they had convinced the Gallagher's, Iggy, and Mandy to come help, which really only took the promise of beer after everything made it into the house. After the long day of moving, everyone sat outside on the cheap (and temporary) patio furniture and just talked and joked, like a real family. Over the years, Mickey had grown closer to the Gallaghers (Debbie and Carl especially, they were still his favorites). While his family was still a family, it never felt like this. There was never much love in his house growing up, but now, with the gaggle of Gallaghers attached to him through Ian, he knew he’d never feel unloved again. So, he had spent most of that first night in the house talking to Carl about their similar delinquent youths, and Debbie about the married life when she would pass by their chairs.

 

     At some point in the night, Mickey had stood up to grab more beers. He walked past where Ian was talking to both of their sisters and kissed him on the head. Ian instinctively reached back to kiss his tattooed knuckles, both smiling even though neither could see the other’s face. When he reached the fridge door inside, he heard the back door slide open and close. He assumed it was Ian but was surprised to see Carl had followed him in. "Hey man, want another?" Carl nodded and sat down at the kitchen table.

 

     "Thanks," he said when Mickey handed him an open bottle and sat down across from him. "When did you realize you were gay?" Mickey coughed on his beer at the bluntness. _This fucking kid._

 

     "What?” Mickey choked, wiping his chin.

 

     "I've tried asking Ian a couple times but he always just says shit about always knowing but I don't buy it," Carl explained as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was staring at Mickey like the man had all the answers to the world’s problems.

 

     "Well, uh," he coughed into his fist, "I think I _did_ always know, but I never let myself think it or admit it. I was so fucking scared my dad would kill me or something I just pushed it back and fucked random chicks." Carl nodded and looked really interested. "But I think your brother had something to do with it. I always had this weird obsession with him, like I just fucking wanted him or something. I probably fucking loved him from the beginning, too. But he was the one thing I let myself fall into and let myself think about in that way. He was actually the first person I told I was gay, even before myself."

 

     "Really?" Carl sat up more in his seat, his interest even further piqued. Mickey nodded and laughed.

 

     "Yeah, _after_ we had already fucked a couple times, too." They both laughed and sipped more of their beers. Mickey knew there was a reason for Carl's question, but also knew him well enough by now to know he'd tell him. And he was right.

 

     "I was really confused ‘cause I've always dated girls, ya know, like you said about only fucking girls. But, I don't think I was doing it to kid myself." Mickey scrunched his nose; Carl was a better man than he, apparently. "There had been a couple times I'd see a guy and think he's hot or something but just figured I could appreciate good looks. But now there's this guy-"

 

     "You got you a guy?" Now _Mickey's_ interest was piqued. Carl's face actually brightened as a smile spread across his face and he nodded. He looked so much like Ian in that moment, Mickey was actually taken aback, and could only stare. "You Gallaghers and your fuckin' guys." He shook his head and laughed.

 

     "Ian had guys?" Carl stared laughing too.

 

     "Ian had a buncha old fucks he was sleeping with until we started fucking. _Then_ was always telling me shit about this new guy he was into and wanted to be with but _I_ was the guy the whole time."

 

     "He's an idiot. And that's gross." Carl pulled a disgusted face but Mickey just nodded.

 

     "Fuckin' tell me about it. I married the dude." They each took a few more sips of their beers. "So, what about your guy?" Carl's fucking smile came back.

 

     "I met him at the store. He got hired right after me and I fucking trained him. We're always on the same shifts so we always stock the shelves together and our registers are right next to each other. He's a fuckin' talker, too, so he was always telling me about drama with his boyfriend but they broke up a couple months ago."

 

     "You gonna ask him out?" _Man_ , he really sounded lame right now. Thank _fuck_ he didn't have kids.

 

     "Fuck no, that's gay as shit." Mickey gave him an annoyed look. Did the two of them really have to be _so_ alike? "Yeah, okay, whatever. I just don't wanna seem like a fucking idiot, I don't know how to talk to guys like I talk to girls," he admitted. Mickey nodded and pursed his lips. He got that; he had so much trouble with that stuff when he first started talking to Ian. But, it eventually just came to him, and now he had no trouble pouring his heart out to the man. My, how times have changed.

 

     "Well just ask him if he wants to hang out, throw out some hints like you would if he was a chick, ya know?" Carl nodded and looked past Mickey in thought. Mickey's glad he could be around for his new brother-in-law and whenever they talked he wished he had someone like that before. Yeah, he had Iggy and Mandy, but they weren't ever in the best environment. Maybe if he had someone else to talk to about that shit, things wouldn't have gotten so fucked back then.

 

     "Everything okay?" Mickey and Carl both looked up to the back door where Ian was coming in. "You've been in here a while." He came to stand behind Mickey's chair, and reached over his shoulder to let his handle dangle in front of his chest; only for a minute, though, because Mickey lifted his own right hand up to hold it.

 

     "Yeah, just talkin," Mickey said as he tilted his head back to look up at his husband, and brought their hands up to kiss Ian's. People are always telling Mickey that marriage made him soft, but he just didn't fuckin' believe it. "Did you get some pizza out there? You haven't eaten all day 'cause of the packin'." _Okay_ , maybe a _little_ soft.

 

     "Yes, _dad_ , I've been eating," Ian rolled his eyes but still smiled down at Mickey lovingly. "But, tell Sylvia I'm hungry for something else." Mickey felt his cheeks flush, and opened his mouth to reply, but was quickly reminded of present company.

 

     "Who's Sylvia?" Both men's heads snapped towards Carl and they fumbled their words for a moment.

 

     "-uh, the, uh, the Chinese lady!"

 

     "Yeah! Yeah, the Chinese lady! She takes our order at our favorite Chinese restaurant!" Carl looked between the two men while he took another swig of his beer.

 

     "You guys are fucking weird," he finally said and stood up. "Thanks, Mick," he gave a quick smile to Mickey, who nodded back, and headed out the back door.

 

     "Thanks for what?" Ian asked and pulled the chair next Mickey a little closer and sat down on his right.

 

     "Secret brother-in-law shit," Mickey looked at Ian over his beer.

 

     "Yeah? Can't tell me?"

 

     "I know the concept of secrets is a little hard for you to understand, especially since you're always trying to get everyone to tell you theirs, but that is the general idea, yes." Ian quirked his eyebrows and turned around to look at the door. He stood up and pushed Mickey's chair away from the table a bit.

 

     "You got a real fuckin attitude, ya know that," he asked lowly. Mickey looked up at Ian who rested his hands on the back of the chair, on either side of Mickey's head. He slowly lowered himself to straddle Mickey's lap.

 

     "What the fuck do you think you're doin' Gallagher?" Mickey breathed and looked towards the door to make sure no one was about to burst through and ruin their moment.

 

     " _Milkovich_ ," Ian corrected and began grinding his hips down into Mickey, "I'm just trying to use my _ass-_ ets to get information." He dipped his head down and sucked on Mickey's neck. Mickey did everything he could to suppress a moan, which didn't work out so well, and slid his hands to Ian's thighs.

 

     "And you think your fuckin' club dancin' is the way to do it?" Ian ground his hips hard down and Mickey had to shut his eyes.

 

     "You love my dancing."

 

     "I hate it."

 

     "You forced me to do like five lap dances for your birthday last year." Ian stilled his body and glared down at Mickey.

 

     "I didn't force-"

 

     "You withheld sex," Ian said firmly and pulled back further to stare at Mickey with narrow eyes.

 

     "Yeah whatever, would you just get the fuck off me before someone comes in here." Despite his words, Mickey's grip on Ian tightened. Ian lowered his head again to kiss Mickey as deeply but quickly as he could. He pulled back and stood up, walking to the fridge.

 

     "Should tell everyone to go home, we can fuck in every room in our house."

 

     " _Our house_. Mmm, you really know what to say to get me goin'." Mickey stood up and crossed the kitchen to Ian, kissing the back of his neck. "Go tell 'em to fuck off, I'll be in the bedroom."

 

     Needless to say, the couple didn't leave their home all weekend while they tested every possible surface in the house they could fuck on.

 

 

⁂

 

 

     When Dipper and Orion got sick, Mickey didn't think he'd handle it well. In their old age, the dogs had slowed down dramatically, and their bodies were riddled with tumors and disease. Mickey knew something was wrong when he came home from work one Tuesday, and his dogs didn't greet him at the door as usual. He found Orion sitting at the end of the couch like he was making his way to the door but got tired. "Hey, you okay, boy?" He kneeled down and scratched the dogs head. "Where's your brother?" He kissed the top of Orion's head and walked around the house.

 

     He finally found his other dog laying outside. He wasn't moving and didn't even open his eyes when his dad came onto the back patio. "Dip? What's wrong?" He sat down on the ground next to the old dog, petting him, and tried to get his attention. His ears had twitched a couple times and he had a faint heartbeat, but that did not settle Mickey's stomach much. Mickey felt like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water on him; he was so scared and worried. He pulled out his phone and called Ian at work.

 

     "Hey, Mick. What's up? I'm here for the night, remember?"

 

     "C-can you come home? Pl-please?" His voice was weak and shaky and he didn't care that his eyes were brimming with tears. He lifted Dipper's head into his lap, and the dog finally looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Mickey instantly felt a third of his heart crack and knew there was no light at the end of this tunnel.

 

     "Mickey? What's wrong? What happened?" There was a shuffling on Ian's end of the call and he sounded borderline panicky.

 

     "It-it's Dip. Something's wrong. I-I need you, Ian. Please."

 

     "Okay, Mick. I'll be home soon." Mickey hung up the phone and laid down on the cool concrete to better hold his old pup. It was mid-November and chilly out, and he knew he should be trying to get the dog in the house where it was warm, but he just needed more time. He wasn't ready yet.

 

     He was still on the ground when Ian came home an hour later, but now Orion had curled up next to his brother and dad's heads. "Mickey?"

 

     "I think he's sick," he said quietly. He was trying to calm his crying so he could talk to his husband. Ian came to sit with his family, still in his fucking uniform (which just made Mickey more upset), so he closed his eyes.

 

     "We gotta take him to the vet, Mick. If he's sick they'll make him feel better, we-" Mickey started shaking his head.

 

     "They won't make him feel better, Ian. This is fuckin' it, look at him. He doesn't even fucking look like _he_ thinks he's making it out of this." Mickey pressed his forehead to the back of the furry head.

 

     "Okay, but we still need to take him in, okay? Maybe he's just got an upset stomach or something. But we gotta take him in." Fresh new tears spilled down Mickey's face and he took a shaky breath. With his eyes still closed, he nodded slowly. Ian stood to help his husband up. Orion stood up with them, and licked his brothers head a few times before Mickey picked up the dog. He and Ian went through the back gate that led to the driveway, and packed Dipper in the back. "I'm gonna go get his papers and stuff." Mickey nodded as he slid into the backseat with the dog.

 

     "Will you grab his tire? And put some real fucking clothes on, too?"

 

     "Whatever you want, Mick."

 

     They had come home that night with one less dog. The vet had told them that Dipper's tumors had been slowly depositing toxins into his body, and had been slowly killing him, and that the same thing was probably happening to Orion. The vet didn't know if Dip had just been having a bad day or if this was truly the end, but said there was little they could hope for, if anything at all. That just made Mickey madder.

 

     Mickey stood in the vet's office, yelling at her that he didn't go through what he did in his life, against everything, finding and building his own hope, all to have her rip it away from him in the form of the only other thing he's loved as much as Ian. He was red in the face, he couldn't see through his tears, and voice was already sore. He actually punched the wall at one point, but luckily caused no damage to it or his hand. He finally stopped when he looked at Dipper. He was laying on the table and had lifted his head for the first time since he had come home from work that night.

 

     Mickey didn't want that version of himself to be how the dog last saw his dad. He knew it was a dumb way to think, but the dogs really were his kids, and he just loved them so much. He immediately calmed himself down and stood by the table, rubbing Dip's favorite spot in between his eyes and down his nose. He did not leave his side, did not stop touching his dog until Ian was physically pulling him out of the room after Dip had fallen asleep. Mickey slept on the living room floor that night with Orion.

 

     For a week, he just laid in bed with Orion, always holding him. He was having trouble getting over the loss of one of his three best friends. Slowly but surely, he had started coming out of the room more until he was practically back to his normal self. But, by the end of the month, they had lost Orion, too, and that took an even bigger toll on him. Mickey thinks it was a sick mixture of the cancerous tumors and the heartache of losing his brother.

 

     Dip had more Ian's dog, but Orion was Mickey’s through and through. He knew Mickey's moods, and would lay with him when he was stressed or him and Ian fought. Orion was there when Ian wasn't. Orion was what he always wanted in a friend or family member but never got until Ian (and he couldn't always go to Ian).

 

     Mickey had regressed back to stage one of the grieving process, and refused to leave the bed or talk or eat. It was a week or so before Christmas when Ian had come into their room after work with the magic words he knew would get his husband talking.

 

     "There's a bright side, ya know?" Mickey rolled over and looked at Ian with his sad eyes, drowning in dark circles and heavy bags.

 

     "Please, tell me what the fucking bright side of both dogs dying is, Ian." Ian came to lay down on top of the blanket next to Mickey. Thank _God_ he was changed into normal clothes.

 

     "I see three, actually. One: they're happy again. They're not in pain, and they're running around with each other like they used to." He leaned forward and kissed Mickey's forehead, who closed his eyes and smiled faintly. "Two: since you haven't shown up to work in a fuckin' month, you're basically fired, so you can finally look for a job that makes you happy."

 

     "Yeah? Should I go into something where I'm gone multiple nights at a time and could get fucking killed on the job?" he snorted and opened his eyes. Ian lifted his left hand to Mickey's cheek.

 

     "We’re not fighting about this again, Mickey. We have this fucking fight once a god damned month. I have to stay till spring like I promised them, then I'll find a new job, okay?"

 

     "And fucking resent me for making you quit your dream job."

 

     "A firefighter isn't my fucking dream job, Mick," he laughed, "I wanted something where I could _help_ people and that was what was there. Besides, Pete's got an EMT friend who says they've got an opening that they're willing to hold for me if I want it. That's not a dangerous job and I'd be helping more people. I told them I want it."

 

     "But what if something happens before then, Ian? I lose the dogs, I fucking lose you; I have _nothing_ left. I can’t fucking live without you, Ian. I tried. I can’t do it." Mickey closed his eyes again and let Ian pull him into his chest.

 

     "Something already happened, Mick. Remember?" He moved his hand down and across his chest to touch Mickey's left shoulder. "I was okay, I _am_ okay, I'm still here." He kissed Mickey again on the forehead. Mickey opened his mouth to say something but opened his eyes when he heard a weird noise from the living room.

 

     "What was that?"

 

     "That, uh, well that was bright side number three..." he trailed off. Mickey sat up with furrowed brows. He didn't like where this was going.

 

     "What-"

 

     "Okay, don't be mad, okay? It came from a place of love and wanting to help you and I can't take them back and-"

 

     "Them?" Mickey shouted, "Ian, what the fuck-" Ian jumped out of the bed and left the room. He came back with a medium sized pet crate and put it on the end of the bed. He opened it and two kittens slowly peaked their heads out. One was black and one was orange; of fucking _course_ they were. Leave it to Ian fucking Gallagher to go out and find them in cat form. "Ian, what the _hell_ is this?"

 

     "They'll help you feel better. They'll cuddle you and be there when you're sad, just like Dip and Orion were. I think you'll actually like them, I've always pictured you with a cat." The kittens had come out fully now, and were chasing each other all over the bed and across Mickey's lap. He just stared them down.

 

     "You really want us to be the fucking neighborhood gay couple with cats? You gonna buy my horses when these die?"

 

     "You know, we wouldn't be in this constant cycle if we just had kids." They both started at each other for a minute before laughing.

 

     "Right, ‘cause _that_ would've been any better," Mickey shook his head and looked back at the cats. "What're their names?"

 

     "Don't have any yet," Ian said as he came back to sit on Mickey's left side, "thought you'd want to name them." Mickey pursed his lips and nodded.

 

     "One of 'em a girl?"

 

     "Yeah the orange one." Mickey snickered and reached over to his nightstand and pulled out his phone. After thinking about how he named the dogs after constellations, he got an idea about Greek gods and _their_ names. He had a couple ideas already before even searching.

 

     "So, I was thinking Zeus for the black one, right-"

 

     "Think kinda highly of yourself, huh?"

 

     "- and according to _this_ his wife was Leto-"

 

     "I resent being the women. No way in hell."

 

     "But _then_ I found Apollo, who is their son, right? This page says he fucked a bunch of women but liked fucking dudes more." He turned to smile at Ian who was practically glaring at him.

 

     "You want me to be one of your mistresses?"

 

     "Not you, the fuckin' cat. But, no, they're names are so fucking weird, hold on." He turned back to his phone and kept doing research for a minute. "Okay, Apollo is god of the moon, and his sister Artemis is the goddess of the sun, so if that doesn't just fuckin' sum it up." He tossed his phone on the bed and leaned back against the headboard.

 

     "Apollo and Artemis, huh? That mean we can keep 'em?" Mickey rolled his eyes but brought Ian's hand up to kiss it.

 

     "Yeah we're fuckin' keepin' 'em. Thanks, by the way."

 

     "Anything for you, Mick," he smiled back. Ian mirrored Mickey's sitting position against the headboard, and let him keep his right hand to play with it. "Why was it so hard for you when the dogs died? ‘Cause that stuff doesn't usually get to you. Someone dying I mean." Mickey sighed and rested his head on Ian's shoulder. He hoped this wouldn't come up.

 

     "Two things. Two of the fucking hardest things. It reminded me of my mom. She was the only person who died that I loved and missed. The same thing happened when she left. I just laid in bed for a fucking month, wouldn't talk to anyone. Terry came in one day and started beating on me for being a fucking pussy," he laughed darkly. Ian let go of his hand, giving him his left hand instead, so he could rub his thigh.

 

     "What's the other thing?" Mickey sniffed and felt his throat closing up with emotion. He shut his eyes tightly.

 

     "It reminded me of the mortality of our time together. You and me. We won't always be around. One of us is gonna fucking die and leave the other and- and-"

 

     "Shh, it's okay, Mick. You can't think like that, okay? We're here now and we'll be here until the end. You and me, okay?" Mickey nodded and sat up. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

 

     "Life was easier when I was a nihilistic fuck." They both laughed.

 

     “Kinda cool, though,” Ian tried quietly. Mickey swung his head around, looking at Ian like he was the biggest idiot he’s ever met. He might’ve been.

 

     “S’cuse me?” Ian shook his head defensively.

 

     “Not like I’m glad they’re gone. But, they’re back with the stars, right? I bet you could see ‘em if ya looked at the constellations.” Mickey turned the idea over in his head for a few minutes, and finally nodded.

 

     “Fuck yeah they are. Fuckin’ stardust and shit, right? They’re home, huh?” Mickey’s voice was gentle and hopeful.

 

     “Yeah, Mick, they’re home.” They rested their heads together and watched the cats. Apollo kept moving around to lay down and nap, but Artemis kept jumping on him.

 

     "She’s a real bitch, isn't she?"

 

     "She's really showing a poor representation of us gingers."

 

     "I think she's pretty spot on actually-" Ian hit him with his pillow and the two wrestled lightly, the new twins joining in.

 

 

⁂

 

 

     If a young Mickey Milkovich had ever imagined he'd get the life he ended up, he would've only thought so for a moment. He had no hope of getting away from his father, permanently; but he moved out and Terry died in jail. He didn't think he'd ever have a legitimate job; but worked as a mover and then a mechanic for a few years, and eventually ended up owning and managing his own garage (and if he happened to do some illegal stuff out of the back every once in a while, for extra money, it didn't go on any tax forms). He never thought he'd be happy or have a light inside of him the represented hope. He never thought he'd be anything but a pessimistic asshole. He never thought he'd be in love. But, then he met Ian Gallagher.

 

     Ian Gallagher was everything Mickey Milkovich never let himself believe was real or possible. Ian Gallagher was good, warm, bright, hopeful, and just fucking _beautiful_. His hair reminded Mickey of fire. His skin reminded Mickey of the night sky. His laugh reminded Mickey of happiness. His smile reminded Mickey of love. His mind reminded him of hope.

 

     Ian taught Mickey so many things in their lifetime together. He taught him what it felt like to love and care for someone, and what it felt like to have them feel the same about you. He taught him what it it’s like to not be alone, and to have something, some _one_ , to fight for. He taught him how to look on the bright side of everything. Whenever something went wrong, no matter how big or small, and Mickey would start stressing himself out, Ian would take his hand and play with his fingers, or rub his thigh, or kiss his temple. He’d pull back and give Mickey this _look._ This look that just said everything was okay, and he’d tell Mickey what the bright side was this time, like it was second nature for him. Things rarely went wrong anymore; they never fought and there were never things in life they had to worry about when there was something, Mickey always knew that if he couldn’t come up with something to calm himself, Ian would in a heartbeat. They were fighting together now, and were even stronger that way.

 

     It was almost crazy to think that in their later years, they grew even closer to each other; Mickey had thought it impossible. Yet, they had reached a point somewhere along the way where they just didn’t care anymore. They didn’t care about embarrassing themselves or saying the wrong thing. They didn’t care about seeming too clingy or needy. They only cared about being in love and being together. What more did they need, really?

 

     Mickey always thought when he was old and withered (if he ever made it that far) he'd regret everything from his youth; all the trips to juvie, and the drinking and drugs; every illegal thing he'd ever done. But, in the end, he only ever regretted two things; not seeing Ian for what he was from the beginning and doing everything he could to be with him so no time was wasted, and the two times he'd hit him when they were younger. The thought and memories of the punchings and kickings and bruises and blood would still bring guilt, chills, and nightmares to Mickey in his later years.

 

     Ian had long since forgave him, though, probably did instantly, but Mickey figured he just didn't know what it was like to see the love of your life bleeding because _you_ hit him. Mickey had tried endlessly over their years together to make up for his dumb mistakes, but Ian always said they were unnecessary, so Mickey thought that meant they weren't enough. No number of gifts or vacations (always small ones, they never did make it to Mexico) seemed to do the trick, and it wasn't until Ian got sick that he finally got the point.

 

     It wasn't anything serious; he was only in the hospital for two weeks, but it still scared Mickey to no end. He had gotten a cold that ended up not going away, and turned into early stages of pneumonia. Mickey insisted on doing everything in his power to help Ian; he stayed all day and night, brought him food that was better than whatever garbage they had in the cafeteria, and kept him updated with local news or family gossip. On the fifth day of the hospital stay, when Mickey had asked 'what do you need, Ian?' and he replied with 'you, Mick, I just need you' he finally understood. It didn't matter what had happened with them when they were kids, or what could happen in the future, because they were always going to be together. It was Ian and Mickey, Mickey and Ian. There would never be one without the other.

 

     So, it was with a heavy, and weak, heart that Mickey talked to his husband for the last time. The years of drug, alcohol, and physical abuse took a toll on Mickey's body and mind and finally caught up with him; go figure. It was the summer just before his eightieth birthday when he'd basically been told he'd go anytime now. He'd have his good days and bad days, and they were warned that at the sight of his best, most lucid and alert day, that would probably be it.

 

     Iggy and Colin had already passed in the years prior, but Mandy had come down with her family to see Mickey again. Even Carl and Debbie had come with their own husbands to say goodbye, Debbie bringing the kids. It had been a long couple of months of goodbyes and he only had one left; the one he was dreading the most.

 

     Ian pulled the curtains of the bedroom open that morning to let in the summer sun and heat, but by now, the sun was setting. He brought in everything they would need for the day, intent on not leaving their bed all day. They both knew. Mickey hadn't been this talkative or moved this much since he first became more or less bed ridden. They were both glad to have the closest thing to the old Mickey back, but sad with what that meant.

 

     The bright sunlight had warmed his skin and mind. He always loved the summer; every good thing in Mickey's life had happened in the summer, and, in contrast, everything bad had happened in the cold, dark, wet, winter months. He thinks it's funny, or maybe it just made sense. Every good thing that's ever happened to him also involved Ian somehow. He met Ian during little league while on summer break. He fell in love with Ian over the course of their first summer together. He got to marry Ian in the summer. He thinks it's because Ian and summer are so alike in his head. But, Ian Gallagher would always be so much more bright and warm than hundreds of Chicago summers.

 

     "It looked like it was nice outside today. Reminded me of when we first started hanging out," Mickey spoke softly (by choice or otherwise, he didn't know). He was sitting against the headboard, propped up on a few pillows. So was Ian.

 

     "Hanging out? That's what we're callin' it now?" Ian chuckled.

 

     "We hung out," Mickey raised his eyebrows at him.

 

     "Yeah, during the come down between rounds one and two." Mickey just shook his head lightly.

 

     "Okay, maybe at first, but eventually we were more than sex." Ian nodded.

 

     "We were always more than sex, Mick." Mickey smiled and grabbed Ian's right hand in his left and played with his wrinkled fingers.

 

     "We sure were. Sex was real fuckin' good though, wasn't it?" Mickey laughed, but it ended in a cough. He sighed when Ian handed him a glass of water. This was just how it had been; Mickey getting progressively more sick and Ian taking care of him. He never thought Ian would be the one looking out for him. "Dying fucking sucks, man."

 

     "Yeah, watchin’ you, I'm not lookin' forward to it," Ian laughed and took the water back from Mickey, putting it on his nightstand.

 

     "You know, I never thought I'd make it this far. Like, this old or, like, just this _far_ , ya know? Out and proud, married, _happy_. It's weird. Not as scary as I thought it'd be, I actually really enjoyed my life."

 

     "What changed?" Mickey rolled his head to the left to look at Ian, smiling lightly.

 

     "This ginger fuck who's always looking on the bright side. They say he's red-colored or something."

 

     "Man, sounds like a real ass."

 

     "Fuckin' love him though." Ian gave him a small smile.

 

     "He loves you, too." Ian leaned forward and kissed Mickey's mostly bald head.

 

     "Fuckin' tired." Mickey started sliding onto the bed to lay down, and Ian helped him before doing the same himself. They laid as close to each other as they could while on their backs, with their hands intertwined in the middle, the same way they'd slept every night as of late years. Neither wanted to stop talking. They knew what it meant when they did.

 

     "Wanna know one last bright side? What the bright side of this is?" With tears in his old eyes, Mickey took a deep, shaky breath, looked over at Ian, and nodded. "You get to see your mom, and the cats and dogs soon," he whispered. Mickey breathed out a laugh and squeezed Ian's hand.

 

     "Wanna know the brighter side?" Mickey whispered back.

 

     "All these years later and you've found a brighter side? Why, Mikhailo Milkovich, the day has come where the student surpasses the teacher."

 

     "Shut the fuck up, ya never let me have my moments," he laughed again. "The _brighter_ side is I'll get to see you soon again, too. I won't have to miss you for very long." Mickey felt the tears spilling over and down his face. Of all the times he’d thought he’d have to break things off and say goodbye to Ian Gallagher, they never felt so real. It always felt temporary, like in a couple months he’d see the red head again, and everything would go back to normal. But this as it this time. There was nothing after this. Mickey was leaving for good this time, he just wished he’d had a say in that matter.

 

     "No, you won't. I'll be there soon, too. You gonna wait for me, Mick?" Mickey could hear Ian's own tears in his voice and that hurt him more than dying, more than the toxins that have been slowly eating him away with such an excruciating, unbearable agony.

 

     "'Course I'll wait, fuckhead. Gonna get real comfortable with the kids and save a spot for you. You're gonna meet my mom, too." Mickey closed his eyes and rested his head on Ian's tattooed shoulder. He could feel Ian resting his head on his own.

 

     "I can't wait."

 

     "I love you, Ian."

 

     "I love you, too, Mickey."

 

     He was gone by morning. Mickey died in the summer, on a day much like the one he'd met Ian Gallagher, and he felt just as warm in his last moments as he ever did when Ian touched him. He wasn't sad or scared in the time that lead up to all of it. He knew Ian was a strong man, stronger than Mickey could have ever hoped to be. He knew Ian would be okay for a little while without him, and was going to do much better than he would, were the roles reversed. Mickey wouldn’t have made it without Ian, even for a short time; he never did.

 

     The last thing Mickey remembers is visions of a beach. He could feel the warm sand under his feet and heard the ocean waves crashing on the shore ahead of him. He saw Dipper and Orion chasing each other in the water, and Apollo and Artemis taking a nap on a beach towel in a shady spot. Even his mother was there (just as beautiful as every photo he’d seen and memory he held), sunbathing in a chair not too far. In his right hand, he held an ice-cold beer, and in his left, Ian's hand. He looked over at his man, and immediately felt a tear slip from him his eye. He was so beautiful and he looked young again. He looked like he wasn't even twenty yet; this was the Ian Mickey had first fallen in love with, the one he still saw in his dreams. Mickey finally got to take Ian to Mexico.

 

     Loving Ian Gallagher was simultaneously the easiest and hardest thing Mickey Milkovich ever had to do in life. He never knew if he was doing or saying the right thing, he never knew if he was enough for the man, or something he was just settling on. Mickey had fucked up a lot and he spent way too much time in his head, time that could've been spent holding, kissing, and loving Ian. He had been so stupid as a teenager, but at least he had eventually figured it out. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his beach chair, letting the heat from the sun and Ian soak into him.

 

     "I love you, my rose-colored boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading my first gallavich fic! I hope ypu enjoyed it! This fic was based off the song Rose-Colored Boy by Paramore, and you should totally listen to it if you haven't! Also, 26 by them is a good indication of Ian's pov through this whole story. I worked hard oon this fic and while it's not perfect, I'm so glad people have enjoyed it. Thank you all so so much! I'm uploading the first chapter of my next fic on Friday, as a sort of sneak peak, and that fic is written so much better, so maybe check it out! I wanted to say again that while it seems some things in this fic didn't need to happen, EVERYTHING did. This whole fic is full of symbolism, so nothing that happened should be taken at face value, because there was deeper meanings to it. Thank you for following me on this journey, and I hope you come around for the others!


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